REDgreen
by Jaxon666
Summary: Clark/Oliver extended bromance/slashfic series. Not fully knowing it yet, the boys embark upon a less platonic relationship, with the more experienced Oliver pulling all the strings in an obscurely manipulative way. Full summary in published chapter.
1. Chapter 1: Bromanticity

Title: REDgreen

Type: Slash, bromance, lost episode

Rating: NC-17

Fandom: Smallville

Pairing/s: Clark/Oliver, Collie

Episode Setting: Post-Toxic, Pre-Instinct

Word Count: 6751

Summary: After events unfold after their first real argument, following Oliver being poisoned, Clark begins to discover that there are more interesting elements of bromance to experience than he might have at first thought, under Oliver's keen metrosexual and socially unconventional wing. The two grow closer, as Ollie guides Clark in the art of not to living out his life constantly limiting himself, and being inhibited as a result. In exposing a recent spell of perversion elicited by Clark, Oliver reveals how there needn't be much guilt involved in pursuing a guilty pleasure. Their friendship becomes more established and evolved, and their platonic bromance progressively turns into something a lot more involved, complicated and enjoyable than expected, although in an organic if somewhat surreal way.

Warnings: Part one of a series I plan to complete which starts realistically tame and builds up in intensity when appropriate. It's my first return to slashfic after a very long time so I hope it suffices, and it's also my very first Smallville slashfic ever attempted. May be slightly spoilerish to those who have not seen the Season 8 episode "Toxic" or some other episodes aired prior to that, includes some sexual references and events of male nudity. Those looking for immediate excuses for spiteful smut may not have the patience needed to appreciate the series.

Disclaimer: Don't own Smallville or the characters, just like writing about it and them.

--

"Clark-", Oliver voiced, in observation of the Kryptonian's arrival in spite of the fact that his dark hazelnut eyes had yet to pay worthy witness to Clark's actual presence, the telltale incoming swoosh of Kent's supersped entrance serving as a just enough alert, "-guess you're not done insulting or mistrusting me for the night.". Although the golden haired archer kept his back pointedly turned to Clark, his spoken tone shed revelation towards the stern and rather angered expression that hung upon his typically handsome and solemn face, a tone quite similar to the one he had regrettably already taken within the last hour that had passed, and with the same colleague.

Oliver finally turned in his chair to face Clark, what remained of his current recreational poison, pooling colourfully around the ice cubes within the glass that casually chilled his firm palm, "Whatever it is Clark, you might want to spit it out…it's not getting any earlier and I do have some recovery to do, you know from that near death hallucinogenic toxin trip I was recently subjected to.".

Clark's brow arched upwardly, yet unevenly, a lovably pathetic look often displayed by the unrealised superman when he found himself to be the unintentional cause of hurt feelings, a look of self-disillusionment and simple despair, a look so adorably child like in fact that it seemed laughably unfitting upon the face of someone of Clark's towering proportions.

"Oliver…", Clark began softly, with bright eyes that beamed with an evident mixture of anxiety and hope, "…I didn't want to leave things the way that they were at the club-", his sincere facial expressions became progressively warmer and softer, pleading with their onlooker to forgive, forget and seemingly hug the owner of the face that they came from.

"-So you ran over here hoping I was still awake and in some sort of mood to reason with you, because our spat had you losing sleep?", Oliver asked, abruptly interrupting Clark, his steely gazes not yet retreating.

In an answer to his question, Kent simply formed a half hearted grin, lead mostly by his bottom lip and accompanied somewhat by an optimistic shrug. For such a strong and impressive looking man, Clark was sometimes akin to a child who knew he was cute, and how that could help him get away with things.

"You're lucky you can pull faces like that.", Queen stated with firm honesty, his behaviour towards Clark becoming immediately warmer. If not for Clark's troubled himbo grimaces denying it, Oliver would still be angry with him out of choice. "Guess we can add that to your growing list of superpowers.", he smirked lightly in a way that only Oliver could do without being offensive, shaking the ice that continued to melt a the bottom of his emptying glass.

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry, I should have trusted you. I know better than to think you'd ever murder a man to settle a score, even if it was the man who killed your parents. You're better than that, and I shouldn't have doubted you."

It was odd and also refreshing that someone such as, Clark who for the most part respectfully seemed quite naïve to a globe trotting, high-rolling playboy such as Oliver, could so often surprise those not expecting him to with moments of endearing wisdom that were in no way contrived. Not one to shy away from his optimism towards Clark, Oliver flashed the Smallville native a short and approving smile, wondering how anyone could truly stay mad at Clark for long.

"Well, thanks for the vote of confidence Clark…but maybe you were right to be cautious. We've all been to some pretty dark places before with the right amount of motivation…who knows what I would have done? You just thought it was best that I never have to find out, you had my best interests at heart…and I can see that now. You are a friend Clark…the sort friend who won't spare me for going off track…that's the sort of friend I could use."

Oliver's thankful reprieve forced Clark to grin wildly in an automatic response of impish glee, causing him to appear as though he had become somewhat demented with happiness, for a moment. Clark was after all, an unparalleled happiness junky and acquired massive positive reaction from even the slightest of niceties. His status as a worthy friend being audibly confirmed by Oliver's articulate and carefully worded voice was like virtual crack being injected directly into Clark's pleasure centres, if only for a number of seconds.

"So everything-"

"-Is fine Clark.", the blonde eagerly interrupted again with much zeal, "You didn't think I'd Lex out on you and turn our dispute into some long drawn out grudge did you?", Oliver paused for a moment, "Well to be fair, if you hadn't shown up, I was planning to stay mad at you for at least a day or two.", he laughed inaudibly, looking every bit the winner that Clark often saw him to be, the golden boy with all the right morals despite the wealth and lifestyle that would have corrupted others in the same circumstances.

Now that Kent had neared himself to Oliver, the blonde archer stood with intent to lead his penthouse guest to the more comfortable setting before the fireplace. After the two young men arrived, each lowering themselves down upon adjacent, luxuriously modernistic sofas, Oliver noticed questionable, somewhat uncomfortable glances being projected from Kent's usually untroubled eyes.

"Clark…is there something bothering you?", Oliver asked with a curious brow.

"No…it's just…I don't think I've ever visited you here without…seeing you shirtless."

It only took a slip of a moment, but when Oliver came to think about it Clark was right, Oliver spent less time fully clothed in his home, than he did otherwise. Clark's apparent discomfort with the partaking of his friend's partially bared form did slightly amuse Oliver, visibly so to a certain extent.

"My apologies for being hot blooded Clark…but then again it's not like your famous for knocking. I could go grab a shirt if you're that disturbed by the sight of my-"

"-No…", this time it was the farm boy's turn to interrupt, although in a much less forceful way than his confident ally, "…it's fine. I guess I just noticed that a large part of the time we spend together involves you being…less clothed than I'm used to.", Clark informed his wealthy friend that a life lived out on the Kent form was far from any socio-modern, marginally metrosexual setting, which allowed for mutual semi-nudity between males to be frequently demonstrated, however casual. Having Lois catch him in anything less than a t-shirt was embarrassing enough for Clark to avoid such an event as much as humanly, or rather Kryptonianly possible.

"I keep forgetting, you were raised a little better than most of us…but surely it's not like the great Clark Kent has anything to be ashamed of?", Oliver had seen Clark unclothed enough to know that he shouldn't have any body issues, especially if the subject of Clark's comparison was him. Maybe Clark was simply shy and not used to witnessing such casual states of undress being shared amongst men.

"It's not that…I mean, I was on the football team…", and Clark didn't have to explain his implications, Oliver was aware that his larger friend was referring to the need for comfort with male nudity if one was to be a contributing member of a sports team, which was just as well because the farm boy was far too coy to ever go into further detail or explanation, "…you just…you're much more confident about that stuff than I am…I won't even leave my shirt off in my own room, well, not since Lois lived with us."

"I don't know about that Clark, it's not what I'd call confidence. I'm in my own home talking to a friend and the air is cooling my skin…there's nothing about that I should be uncomfortable with is there? It's not like I'm putting myself on display, or being judged for the way I look…is it?"

"No, you're right.", Clark surrendered with a feigned, unsteady smile, "I shouldn't be so uptight, but then…a lot's happened to make me that way."

"Lana?"

"Not just Lana…everyone I get close to…they all seem to get hurt or end up leaving in one way or another."

"Sounds like a good way to keep you in your shell."

"And maybe I started believing it might be better for things to stay that way. I've seen what I'm capable of when I lose my inhibitions, I've seen what can happen-"

"-Hold on, you mean to tell me there have been times when you've had no inhibitions?", Oliver asked in disbelief of the concept.

"Red Kryptonite."

"Right, so it's not something you achieved by yourself.", Oliver taunted playfully which in return elicited a mildly punishing and disheartened look from Clark.

"Depends how you look at it. Red Kryptonite doesn't make me a different person…it's still me, it's just that when I'm Kal I do all of the things I usually stop myself from doing."

"Is that such a bad thing? I mean in moderation…maybe that's what you've been getting wrong…thinking too much about everyone else, and too little about yourself."

"Well, you've never met Kal."

"True but I've heard the stories, and while I draw the line at being involved in organized crime and getting hitched to your meteor infected stalker in Vegas, would the odd romp really be such a bad thing?"

"Oliver!", Clark almost gasped in shock, wholesome and innocent though he was and taken completely off guard by his older friend's somewhat invasive suggestion. Open sexual discussion was not something the mild mannered powerhouse was accustomed to, but he sheepishly resided on the fact that he was becoming a man now, and Oliver was confiding in that fact as an older man himself. Clark had to remind himself that while such discussion was not comfortable for him to endure, it was perfectly healthy for two young men who trust each other to share their sexual views, and that actually such evolved social interaction has been a long time coming.

"Oh come on Clark, it'd take a mental patient to think you anything short of honourable, but you're a hero, not a saint…isn't it about time that you stopped pressuring yourself to pursue the unrealistic? You're a man in your prime, and love is a rare thing to come by, especially in the world we live in.", Clark's friend spoke calmly and with such maturity and wisdom, but the notion of casual sex still seemed so incriminating and alien to the respectful Kryptonian.

"It's not that simple, Oliver…you can take off your green costume any time you like and lead a double life, but I'm always going to be from another planet. I have to consider how that effects the people I get involved with. My secret is something I have to protect, but at the same time I don't want to hide who I am just for the sake of…"

"-Don't worry Clark, you don't have to say it.", Queen rescued his friend from saying words that he found too sordid to utter. "Look, I know that you're the strongest man on the planet, but that doesn't mean you have to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders. We all have secrets, I know I had my fair share even before I took up life behind the mask, and granted yours is unique to say the least but you give it too much meaning. Every day you continue to prove just how human you are, more human than the best of us at times…no matter who you became involved with or for how long, you'd be the one of the most human people they had ever known.", with a touched and endlessly appreciative smile, Clark looked to Oliver fascinated that someone so accomplished and successful had so many rewarding things to say about him. The only other person who warmed Clark's heart in this way was Chloe, but there was always bias there, after all they had grown up together and been friends since before Lana even became a romantic option, let alone interest. This coming from Ollie meant a lot, as not only was everything he said to be respected for his sense of nobility, intelligence and character, but also he was a man, and Clark had not had much luck when it came to his friendships with men, he'd certainly never had another male believe in him so boldly, so selflessly and so soon, "You might be able to burn through metal with your eyes or send a car toppling over with a stray sneeze, but in the all the ways that really matter…you're just one of us. You need to start seeing that yourself."

"Thanks, Ollie.", a beaming Clark said, almost completely lost for words. How could he compete with gifted sentiments like that, for no matter how he'd like to respond, nor the many positive things he had to say about his blonde friend, he lacked the mastery to articulate quite like Oliver did, as well as the charisma so effortlessly demonstrated by him when doing so, "To be honest, I didn't know you cared so much.", he admitted, nervously rummaging through his coarse main of dark brown hair, not knowing how to appropriately respond to the words Ollie had just parted with.

"Of course I do Clark, we're friends you and I…and I won't let you talk yourself out of letting me play my part in that just because you were carried here by a meteor shower rather than a stork."

And then Clark smiled again, playfully this time, as he realized that Oliver didn't expect Clark to compete with him, he found Clark to be person enough just as he was, however simple and inferior Kent often found himself to be in contrast.

"You know, maybe you're right…maybe I should allow myself to be a little more impulsive…start enjoying life a little more. Just…promise you won't lead me too far astray.", for once the Smallville native exuded a slight charge of mischief, which quite visibly pleased his friend who just wanted him to stop burdening himself with impossible ideals.

"I think it's safe to say that I'll remain the topic of the trashy magazine headlines for the rest of our lives to come. That being said…can I grab you a beer?", a slight pause aired, "Don't run out of steam now Clark, after making so much progress.", he pleaded, half seriously.

"Sure, I'll take a beer.", the powerful alien accepted after some ponderings of reluctance, now finding himself not only happy to have such a good friend in Ollie, but also slightly excited by the newly adopted prospect of living life with a little less limitation than before. Clark began to wonder what sort of influence Oliver could have on the rest of his life, if he can make him feel so accepted and happy to be alive just from a few thoughtful comments in one night.

When Oliver returned, he handed Clark an opened bottle of finely frosted beer before taking to his respective seat once more, fighting back the giggle that threatened to be heard, inspired by the lovable ridiculousness of Clark's obvious mixture of apprehension and excitement towards kicking back like the rest of the world for once, and going all out crazy by having a few beers with a friend.

"You know Clark, I've been meaning to tell you…now that you're working with Lois at the Daily Planet, superspeed aside Smallville is hardly the close neighbour of Metropolis. I have a spare room with your name on it, if you ever need a place to crash…I'm hardly here at all except when I'm sleeping…figured I might as well put the place to good use. Plus, it might be a bit more convenient for you when we're working together on certain extra curricular projects…or on nights like these."

"Ollie, are you sure? I mean I appreciate the offer but do you really think I wouldn't get in your way?"

"Clark I make decisions every day that could cost Queen Industries millions of dollars, of course I'm sure. And what is it exactly that you think you'll be getting in the way of? I'm not half as bad as those tabloids you might read make out."

"I didn't mean-", Clark stopped himself, distracted by a thought. Initially he had only been concerned that accepting Oliver's offer might be too imposing of him in general, while goodly intended, but now Oliver sparked thought in Clark's mind. The secret vigilante was in fact a reported playboy with occasional controversy surrounding him, which only set Clark's mind into a fever of wonder which he usually managed to prevent. What exactly was it that Oliver got up to behind closed doors, not involving of course a green costume. "-wait…Ollie, what would I be getting in the way of, here?"

"Relax Clark, I don't operate a secret sex dungeon or orchestrate mixed sex orgies…well not any more at least, on the latter. Do I bring back girls sometimes? Sure, but I'm not the indulgent young miscreant I once was, I barely have the time to be these days. You can rest assured that there's nothing you'd see going on here that would give you nightmares."

"You don't do orgies…any more!?"

"Clark, I was young, rich and thinking far too often with the other head. It's allowed."

Clark just looked to Oliver in shock and awe, finding it difficult to make any sort of eye contact.

"What?"

"It's nothing, I guess I just never thought about you like that. I mean I've read things, heard things, but it always seemed to be the life of someone else. And now I'm here with you and you're telling me that these things really happened…and some of them probably happened here!"

"Everyone has their vices Clark, the only difference between me and most other people is that mine have sometimes been intruded upon, recorded and published. I'm not ashamed of myself, and I don't regret anything I might have done…it made me who I am today and I think we can both agree that I'm pretty awesome, no?"

"Not everyone has organized orgies, Oliver!", Kent snapped in a somewhat judgemental tone of disapproval.

"Don't judge me Clark, not when I'm sure you've got a few skeletons in the closet yourself."

"Oh really, you honestly think that I've ever done anything to compare to you hosting your own orgies?", Clark became slightly irritated, showing clear disbelief towards Oliver honestly thinking such things of him. With beer bottle in hand, Clark made mental note not to squeeze the bottle too hard out of anger, in avoidance of sending glass shrapnel flying across the room.

"You say that like it's a bad thing…and no Clark I don't think you've ever done anything sexually deviant in your life…I know you have."

If looks could kill, Oliver would have just died.

"Oh come on Clark, you mean to tell me that you've never used your x-ray vision for cheap thrills…or maybe even to check out the competition?", Ollie deductively asked with playful mischief beaming from his face like a golden aura.

"But what you said…before…"

"What I said before was that you're more human than the best of us…and all I'm doing now is accusing you of some simple aspects of human nature. We're allowed to be sexually deviant every now and then Clark, so long as it's not hurting anybody who doesn't want to be hurt. And by the way, I never had an orgy without completely willing and thoroughly satisfied participants…which is more than I can sa-well, never mind.", Oliver caught himself before plummeting completely down a pit of admission he would rather be kept not trodden upon.

"What?!", Clark barked within an instant, angry and anxious as to what it might have been that Oliver almost said, and what it might have implied if he had not brought his Freudian slip to a sudden and successful halt, "What were you about to say Oliver!?", Clark demanded an answer, seemingly offended by what he could make of Queen's unfinished implications.

"Oh I'll tell you Clark, there's no need to get excited, but are you really ready to admit to yourself that you're a hypocrite?"

"What are you talking about?", Clark seemed to genuinely have no idea, and seemed concerned with the unusual and unsettling direction in which his friend seemed to be going.

"You know what I'm talking about, Clark. When I was poisoned, I was in and out of consciousness…and granted, I was mostly out. Imagine my surprise when, on one of the odd occasions that I did come around from my feverishly lucid state, I open my eyes to find Smallville's most wholesome golden boy deviously prying down my waistband to have a long hard look at the Queen jewels…which by the way I don't understand, I mean…you have x-ray vision, why didn't you just use that…far less condemning that way, I'd imagine?"

Although Oliver seemed to be at peace and ease with the claims he evidently believed true, Clark looked as though he had seen a ghost, and found it impossible to form words or make any sort of sound at all. Interesting, Oliver thought, that shame could so immobilize a man with the ability to withstand bullet fire, or even cross states within mere moments if ever he found himself in a situation he'd rather not suffer.

"Well Clark, you demanded an answer and you got it."

"I just…I didn't mean to-", Clark struggled to mouth the words he thought would help explain his actions.

"-Yes you did mean to do it Clark…but at least you're not denying it."

"How can you…I mean, you've been so nice to me, how can you even look at me after knowing I did that? It's…it was wrong…I don't know why I-"

"-I'm sure you do know why you did it, Clark…but don't get yourself started on a guilt trip. Sure, the fact that you sneaked a peak while I was hallucinating myself to death is…well, slightly morbid…but luckily for you I didn't die and I don't have many sexual inhibitions…least of all any that involve you spying at my junk.", although it wasn't perhaps opportune, being that Clark was now a shame-fuelled nervous wreck on the verge of combustion, Oliver couldn't help but chuckle slightly, and a dirty sly chuckle it was, although remaining just on the right side of warmth so to not seem purposefully menacing.

"No, what I did was wrong…maybe Lex and Veritas were right about me, maybe I do have to be stopped before I start taking advantage of people by using my powers, if this is the sort of thing I do without using them."

"Oh can it Clark, would you!? Veritas and Lex were mere mortals, and they murdered people in pursuit of personal gain and selfish beliefs. That hardly compares to what you did. Curiosity got the better of you and you did something a little untoward…nobody was hurt in the process, in fact I don't even mind…if anything it's amusing to me, I mean Clark Kent unleashing his inner perv…and on me! It's sort of an honour!", Oliver smiled and although Clark couldn't make sense of it, he still continued to look like Oliver and not some twisted rich boy with a sick sense of casual perversity that he liked to impose upon others in manipulative ways. Maybe it was because Oliver simply was all that he claimed to be, and there were no hidden agendas or complexities.

"That's not fair Oliver, don't joke about this when it's clear that I'm embarrassed."

"My apologies, but you can't blame me…there is no human or Kryptonian way in which none of this on paper or otherwise is amusing.", while Clark would have found it more rational to have discovered otherwise, it was clear that Queen meant not to ridicule or humiliate the lost prince of Krypton, which could be deduced by witnessing his warm, golden glances which were casually offered out, as usual.

"Look if it makes you feel any better you weren't the only one…in fact, what you did was tame in comparison."

Thinking almost as fast as he was capable of moving, Clark immediately investigated who else might have tampered with his athletic colleague's poisoned and helpless body as it descended to a miserable, hallucinogenic death. He knew it couldn't have been Chloe, and it didn't seem likely that Jimmy or that Doctor friend of Chloe's would take it upon themselves to molest Oliver as he slowly became a corpse, although given that insufferably camp dickie bow that Olsen so proudly sported on occasion, Clark did have some suspicions with regards to how many way the young upstart photographer swung. Overall, most choices of suspect seemed unlikely, and more to the point wouldn't have had the opportunity since by the time they became involved in Oliver's critical situation, there was almost always more than one person tending to him.

"Lois!"

"Bingo, Clark."

"What did she do?!", the naïve, and still shaken farmboy bleated, so confused and driven on nervous adrenalin that his control over the high pitch of his voice was just as bad as decisiveness as to whether he wanted to know the answer to his question at all.

"Let's just say that in my moment of need, she saw fit to give me a hand.", a wink fronted Oliver's naughtily projected answer.

"She didn't!"

"Oh but she did Clark, saw it with my own glazed over eyes and even if I hadn't, I'd recognize that touch anywhere.", Clark jolted a little in forced realization that Lois and Ollie were already intimately familiar, which while he'd already sort of assumed, he didn't know how to feel about now given his current situation, as well as recent sordid revelations, "Maybe it was some sort of final goodbye, or who knows…maybe it was an attempt to give me a few more vital moments of consciousness. Either way, Lois isn't to be underestimated Clark…and I wouldn't exactly have refused her if I were awake and well anyway."

"But you would have refused what I did...it's not the same thing at all!"

"I wouldn't say that…if I'd been awake and well, all you would have had to do was ask…an unusual request, sure, but again I don't have many inhibitions least of all with my body, as you aptly pointed out earlier. Besides, my general scruples are not often celebrated as cagey…and I trust you. However strange the request, I'd always trust that you had your reasons."

"It's not like this was pre-meditated Oliver, I never wanted to…do that before, it just happened when it did.", Clark insisted, his claims seeming to be typically authentic.

"Well there must have been some reason for it, especially if you had no previous impulses towards me?"

"It was just something I heard that-", and now Clark was preventing the completion of a Freudian slip.

"That what Clark?", the distinctly handsome, dark-eyed Oliver Queen asked, having made a quick journey to the drinks refrigerator to fetch and open two fresh bottles of the alcohol amber nectar that both boys had been enjoying, Clark quite gluttonously due to provoked unease, "We're friends aren't we? And do you really think all things considered, that whatever it is you have left to say to me would honestly bother me?"

"I see your point-", Clark reluctantly agreed, "-well it's just that I overheard Chloe and Lois talking about you once…and Lois said…"

"Lois said what, Clark?", asked Oliver, pointedly, his general demeanour seeming somewhat richer in sophistication and more daring now, eyes charismatically anchoring at Clark's better judgement in all the wrong ways.

"She just said…Lois mentioned to Chloe that you were, you know-"

"-No I don't…elaborate for me.", uttered the devilish smile of an energized Oliver Queen, who seemed to ooze a glow amidst the lowly lit room, his silky voice tormenting an already befuddled and bemused Clark.

"Generously…proportioned.", Kent finally managed to force out of his mouth like filth that didn't belong there, much to the obvious delight of Oliver.

"And was she right?", he curiously asked, smirking pleasantly in Clark's direction.

"Oliver!"

"You've said my name as a standalone sentence so many times tonight Clark, I almost feel like I'm at the musical. Just answer the question."

"You're not serious."

"Do I look like I'm joking?" And he really didn't.

After rolling his eyes and willing the ground beneath him to swallow him whole, to no avail, Clark finally caved beneath Oliver's sensationally protrusive gazes which he felt mocking the general surface area of his body in random patterns of bombardment.

"Fine Oliver, you win.", Kent conceded, his fresh beer already half-empty, "Compared to what I've seen, I suppose Lois was right.", Queen smirked victoriously.

"How do I measure up to a Kryptonian? If you and your cousin are anything to go by, Kryptonians seem to be a race of people that have the supermodel gene inborn. I mean, look at the size of your hands, they're like baseball mitts!"

"Oliver, I am not talking to you about my…junk.", Clark hilariously said, much to Ollie's clearly evident amusement.

"Why not? I thought you said you had nothing to be ashamed of.", Oliver reminded Clark's of an earlier comment he'd made, while Clark found himself wondering whether he'd just witnessed Oliver pulling tongues at him.

"Nice try Ollie, but that's not exactly what I said, and you know it.", Clark deflected, only to be met by the fair haired playboy's lips forming a bow that seemed perhaps as punishing as the one he carried with him as the Green Arrow, or even more so.

"Actually Clark, recent circumstances aside, I know that you're a fair guy, one of the fairest guys I've ever met. I think you'd agree that it'd only be fair to even the scores…"

"Meaning what exactly?"

"Well, although I had no say in the matter...I've shown you mine...", the uncanny archer launched a roguish assault of words, as though they were arrows. Cleverly, his said sentence required Clark to finish the thought Oliver had instigated, and it was an inarguably easy segue to correctly complete with just the imagination at hand, "And by the way, I like that you're calling me Ollie again."

At this point, Clark had come down from too high a rush of unexpected worry and adrenalin to be coy any more, perhaps the residual adrenalin that remained within the colossal fortress of muscle and flesh that was his body, accompanied by the irregular alcohol intake he had so quickly ingested, was doing well to modify his confidence and audacity.

"So much for promising to not leading me astray, one minute you're grooming me with beer, the next you want to see my junk!"

The young man who wasn't speaking almost choked on the still cold beer he had just sipped at, laughter causing part of it to travel down the wrong way, froth and golden fluid spilling partially forth from Oliver's mouth. "I'm sorry Clark but if the word junk comes out of your mouth again, you'll be responsible for me drowning on a mouthful of beer."

"Don't do me any favours.", Smallville attempted an outburst of playful cockiness, in a vote to compete with his bowman friend in the attitude stakes, and while not convincing, at least seeing Clark behaving in such a way seemed to suit him somehow.

"Oh you want my helpless, unsupervised body at your mercy again do you Clark?"

"That was below the belt.", Clark insisted, somewhat firmly.

"Literally.", Oliver's devious eyes punished his stronger friend much more than the delivery of that sarcastically clever comeback ever could have, "Well Clark, I'm waiting.", the elder male hungrily reminded Clark that he had business still outstanding to attend to.

"I am not dropping trou for you Oliver.", the only active resident at Kent farm firmly informed his colleague.

"Why? What's so special about the Lanastick that you can't take it out for a friendly bit of show and tell? Especially when you're obliged to, if of course you truly are the fair and noble Clark Kent others believe you to be…I'd hate to think what Chloe would say if she found out what you-"

"-You wouldn't!", Clark interrupted, desperately, having to now ignore his first inclination to reprimand his provocative friend for the absurdly chosen moniker he had chosen for the appendage of Clark's that had recently come under scrutiny and artfully playful pursuit.

"Of course I wouldn't, I'm just making a point…and achieving your full attention apparently.", Clark almost hated that Oliver was always right, but didn't, because when Ollie was smug it didn't seem obnoxious or even proportionately irritating, it seemed like everything was as it was meant to be, and if anything else, motivating.

"You know what, if it's going to shut you up then fine.", Clark suddenly shot, beginning to take to his feet.

"You serious?"

"Don't be so taken by surprise, like you said, we're friends and we trust each other. It's not like I'm putting myself on display to be judged…", Clark realized that his last sentence might not have been entirely true, or that perhaps if it was it would only be based on a certain line of technicality, "…look, you said I should be more impulsive and stop caring so much about being this ideal version of myself, and you were right. It's just a part of my body, and if it settles a score between us then it's hardly worth worrying about."

"Say it Clark."

"What?"

"Cock. Say it.", Oliver requested, noticing how well and how effortlessly Clark had manoeuvred around saying the word at all thus far.

Upon Ollie's request, Clark became slightly shamefaced, and it looked like he was finally going to accept defeat after all, but then after a few silent moments, he raised his head from where it had just hung, taking to the challenge aptly.

"My cock, Oliver…I'm going to show you my cock, and then I don't want to hear another word about what I did to you, deal?"

"So that's how it sounds when you say it.", Oliver quipped, liking how the dirty word rolled off the stocky Kent boy's tongue in an unfitting manner, sin pushed out of something innocent.

"Very funny, now do we have a deal or not?", the Kryptonian ran low on patience.

"Deal.", replied Queen, who looked on in disbelief, yet hopeful that Clark would continue to surprise him with uncharacteristic behaviour, as he had seemed to be doing lately, especially when he thought nobody would ever know.

"Right, well…here goes…", Clark grabbed at his already unfastened belt with both gigantic hands and unravelled it in one bold and tentatively executed yank from the hoops of his roughly worn jeans, that he'd quickly donned before running over to Oliver's penthouse apartment at superspeed, unable to sleep after their first real spat. Then unloosened became the button at the top of his jeans, and Oliver could see the brilliant white fabric of Clark's tight fitting boxers peering out to him from behind a zipped prison of denim. The sound of Clark's belt buckle dryly scratching against Oliver's solid marble floor served as a titillating backdrop of sound, to the main event of Clark's zip being unsophisticatedly tugged downwards, a number of times too before it went all the way down with complete succession. Oliver paid close attention to Clark's body language through pools of glimmering chocolate filled with thirst, which seemed surprisingly refined as well as calmly composed, yet while even the expression upon Clark's face did not seem to be panicked, his own eyes were wide open as though in awe of what they themselves oversaw their owner going through with. The usually coy Clark wasn't quite so self moderated and modest when he engaged in any sexual activity, as could be swiftly corroborated by how he chose not to waste time when it came to the main event, hooking two large thumbs beneath the waistband of his lightly coloured underwear, forcefully using this leverage to yank down both his boxers and jeans at the same exact time.

Almost as though Clark had been freed from the captivity of a spell he had just cast upon his own person, he started to look more like himself again, more aware of and sensitive to the world around him than when he underwent the reasonably taboo act of undressing to expose himself to his friend. Standing with humble guile and no particular sense of posture, Clark looked down once at that which he had revealed in full flesh to Oliver in order to finally remedy a hankering of guilt, and then fixated his unpresumptuous line of sight strictly to Queen, whose eyes were atypically widened.

"Well?"

"Well what Clark?"

"Are we done with this now?"

"Even if we're not, I think it's best you put that away before you abruptly turn and knock a hole through one of my walls.", Oliver winked, confidently impressed by the thing that so heavily hung from between the darker haired boys thickly muscular legs.

"Yeah right Ollie, it's hardly that much of an eyesore.", Clark said, yanking up his jeans and boxers before sitting back down again, although leaving his belt snaked across the floor where he'd swung and thrown it.

"I don't really think it's anyone's eyes that your dick would make sore, Clark. Just do me a favour, if you ever sleep with someone I'm interested in before I do, just let me know so I can avoid throwing my hotdog down the hallway you've installed.", the costume wearing outlaw shone with an outward look of unconventional approval in the path of where Clark stood, and while he was no longer winking his eyes seemed to be continuously ebbing with that very same sentiment. And for once, unlike the usual indifference that Clark warded off Ollie's projections with, Clark was instead sporting the largest and most childishly relentless grin he ever had, in conjunction with his friend's daring sentiments shared.

"Well from what I recall, there's not much difference-"

"-No Clarke…I have an unfeasibly large penis, you have a fifth limb, there is a slight but distinct difference. Now I'm starting to rethink my theory as to why Lana did a vanishing act."

"Stop it.", Clarke said, smiling dementedly, and fighting back a well of laughter. Oliver certainly had a way with words, and he knew how to get reactions out of his younger friend that he would never expect himself able to enjoy, before tonight. Maybe Oliver was exactly the sort of friend Clark needed, a smart, unusual, unpredictable and charismatic friend who was not uneasy on the eye either, which came with it's own list of benefits.

"So, had a good night?"

"You know, as unusual as it's been, I think I have."

"You should piss me off more often.", the wealthy metrosexual joked, reminding Clark of how this entire night developed from a point at which both men were talking heatedly with one another in a nightclub.

"Maybe I should."

"It's late Clark, as fast as you could run home you must be tired. I have a change of clothes and a spare bed if you'd rather just crash here for the night.", the suave millionaire politely offered.

"I think I'm going to take you up on that, so long as you're sure you don't mind."

"A number of hours ago you saved my life. Ask me again why you're always welcome here."

"Thanks.", the two men offered each other pleased expressions, Oliver liked seeing Clark in that light, Clark liked that Oliver could put him in it.

"Think nothing of it. I don't know about you but personally, I'm wiped…can I show you to your room before I hit the hay?"

"Sure Ollie, that'd be great.", and with that the two got up from their seats on the expensive sofas they had been keeping warm, and Clark followed Oliver to the offered bedroom, lights being switched on along the hallway as needed.

"So Kryptonians really are an epically proportioned race then I take it?"

"Shut up Oliver."

--

END


	2. Chapter 2: Closetted&Dodge the Arrow

Title: REDgreen

Type: Slash, bromance, lost episode scenes

Rating: NC-17

Fandom: Smallville

Pairing/s: Clark/Oliver, Collie (Bart featured to some extent)

Episode Setting: Instinct (post-ep)

Word Count: 11304

Summary: After being pursued by alien queen and seductress Maxima, Clark pays a visit to Oliver who isn't home. With thoughts of Chloe's upcoming wedding fresh in mind, one thing leads to another and Clark finds himself dressing in one of Oliver's suits, that is until Oliver rumbles him and things get interesting. A leisurely outing at the Ace of Clubs also sees Clark and Oliver developing their relationship, with Bart paying some audience to such events. Once Bart leaves, things escalate to a critical degree, and Oliver is left wondering what the Hell is going on.

Warnings: May be slightly spoilerish to those who have not seen the Season 8 episode "Instinct" or some other episodes aired prior to that, includes some sexual references and events of an erotic nature. Those looking for immediate excuses for spiteful smut may not have the patience needed to appreciate the series.

Disclaimer: Don't own Smallville or the characters, just like writing about it and them.

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The last twenty four hours or so had really weighed down upon Clark in a number of unexpected and surreal ways, anchoring him in what felt like an army of opposite directions. Of course the hero that went universally unsung for his efforts by dignified choice, only allowed such realisations hit ground after the fact and not because it was any easier this way, but it did allow for him to plough through his never simple emotions and circumstances without distraction hindering his attempts to serve the better good of others in ways they will never yet know. His arms folded, the modest Kryptonian made note of the fact that whenever Lois had lent her presence to the farmhouse, it left his home smelling different, although it was never an actual scent that she left behind in her wake and more of an infusion of person that seemed to influence the atmosphere in a way that tricked the nose into believing otherwise. Hers was a sense of vibrancy and adamant colour that Clark found himself missing in a way that if dwelled upon too long, could become considered as a pining.

With a small, defeated smile his eyes bowed down while his head did not, the lustre of the lit wood in the fireplace ebbing against one side of his face in slow rush of amber washes; Clark once again shed clarity upon the fact that he would never understand Lois as a friend or anything else, or how to tell her how he really saw her, or how to figure out and admit to himself how he really saw her. She was the one person he had ever felt this precise burden with, and while the bearer of a simple yet powerful brand of wisdom, Clark knew not what to do with the truths of this reality, whether they would prove to be no more than casual elements of circumstance; even when confronting his feelings towards Lana in each of the many different chapters of their continuously changing relationship, Clark had known how he had felt and where he had stood. Lois unnerved the planetary orphan in ways that no friend, romantic interest or even enemy ever had, disarmed him and made him feel approved of and frowned upon all at the same time whenever they shared company, and with no real effort demonstrated on her part. For some reason he couldn't shed light upon, Clark liked this; her relentlessly imposing and daunting manner made a human of him, made him forget that he was born to fly in absence of wings, burn through the world's materials with but a look, lift the weight of it in a way no other man could. She infuriated him, she confused him, and more often than not served as the walking bane of his existence that itself smiled in awareness of it's chosen duty, but one other effect that Lois' pointed wares had upon her supposedly simple minded farmboy friend that she might not have known the full and beneficial extent of; she kept his feet feeling that they belonged to the ground on which they stood and walked.

And just like that, the ghost of her scent had ceased to linger, and the reality of the actual world was once again inarguably surrounding him, no longer lost to weightless thought and the dreamlike calm it brought. Given most recent ordeals it was best his senses were no longer fooled; innocents had died as a result of his pursuit as a mate, the alien seductress who was responsible forcing him to once again accept a painfully uneasy sense of not belonging to the world he was not born to, but had loved so much it sometimes hurt even more than the pain he felt for that very feeling of not belonging. Kent had almost been responsible for the death of Jimmy, for which he could not have forgiven himself had Chloe been left without her lover and husband, and if that hadn't been enough, she had entrusted him to do her the honour of giving her away at the aisle, a duty that in merely giving had blessed Clark infallibly; she had given him a trust so delicate and complete that a greater ideal would have only a father deserve it. Chloe had always been Clark's one consistent anchor to the world and the people who inhabited it, the only one he knew would never see an outsider that didn't belong to the human race when she looked to him, even though she knew the harsh details that would prove otherwise. His very existence had almost cost her the future she deserved, with a family of her own making and the man she loved. It kept getting harder, every day, knowing that while all Clark wanted to do was save the world, simply being in it put it at risks he would only learn of when they presented themselves. He wondered if he was worth it, how he could be, as much as he'd like to believe in the soft and beautiful optimism of his friends, even those who did not know his secret and offered their approval to him obscurely. He wondered in a cold and haunting disbelief if anybody could ever be that good of a person to justify the suffering and despair of others; perhaps his friends told lies without knowing it, even Hell's road was paved with the best of intentions.

A lonely thinking spree had left a lonely Clark feeling vulnerable and restlessly awake, but the night's youth had some time before it was fleeted and it's moon had a friend that Clark himself shared. Only moments after toying with the idea Clark had become a blur of gaseous colour that would not be seen by any ordinary man, arriving once more beyond the threshold of his friend's doorway, somewhat mischievously proud smile forming upon arrival. It had been a week or so since he'd last seen Oliver, whose home seemed to have no scent other than one of things both clean and new; scentless but notably distinct in being so. He found himself steadily wandering aimlessly, barely aware that there was yet to be a sign of his friend being present, Clark eyes and hands appreciated a number of the furnishings he passed by as he strode without a chosen path; hand painted wall art which no doubt could have instead financed more than one tractor on Kent farm, the textured leather of Oliver's black leather sofa upon which Clark had only sat upon himself recently, smooth sculptures crafted from stone that seemed so impressive and yet so needlessly indulgent to Clark. And then his large yet gentle grasp came to but a simple picture frame, which held within it an image of it's owner, an image that told so clear a tale of careless frivolity, the likes of which Clark himself could not imagine himself embracing in the way that his friend both could and did. And then his eyes instead saw what had been in front of them, and not beyond them; Oliver in a suit.

While Clark's mind had yet to give true declaration of their findings or that which developed from them, his body did not share the same problem. Only seconds later Clark found himself inside a room that he had never been invited to or seen the walls of before, the bedroom of his friend, Oliver Queen. To some surprise, Clark found Oliver's bedroom to be more minimalist than perhaps he would have imagined, although he did not recall ever imagining at all, smooth solid surfaces and modernistic yet distinctly modest throughout. He looked at himself through the full length mirror that Oliver often must have, recognizing a look of flushed inferiority flood his face as he did so, concluding how his growingly meek and simple reflection could never compare to the more impressive and refined one that truly belonged to the silvered glass before him, which seemed now to be silently mocking him for that very fact alone. Slightly compelled to run his tender palm across the fabric of his wealthy friend's bed for just a second, Clark instead found his tentative clutches attending to a doorway adjacent to it, one that once opened, lead him to an automatically lit closet full of clothing so obviously expensive that even at first glance, each garment seemed so exotic to him. Although he didn't notice, Clark's exhalation was prolonged at the site of his friend's closet, which would be more accurately described as a room, complete with the accompaniment of vintage furniture which even Clark had to admit seemed to belong there and only there; exuberant tall lamps in classical design, dapper hat stand, and even a silk upholstered chaise long with a damask pattern featured which although Clark did not recognise, admitted instantly as a work of beautiful and costly craftsmanship.

Clark's guilty and anxious eyes lost themselves hungrily to the many garments that hung so proudly around him like trophies made not of rare metal, but only for less than a second. One pile of grouped garments had claimed his attention above all others, in spite of the fact that unlike those neighbouring they did not stand proudly but instead lay flat and casually folded over the back of a chair; perhaps it was their comparative modesty that granted Clark's comfort towards them at all. He didn't realize while he pondered how he would look in such a finely cut suit, that he had already began to undress, the exposure of his chest's warm and flawless flesh startling him into that truth has he caught such unexpected glimpses in yet more silvered panes that he felt frowning down upon him, unimpressed and disapproving in ways that made something beneath his skin ripple in mild anguish. This material felt so uncommon as it slid passed his skin as Clark stood upon bare feet, softly delivering his arms through that of the shirt and jacket he aimed to fill somewhat nervously, knowing that however innocent his actions were he should not have been in Oliver's room uninvited, let alone helping himself to any clothing he found lying around. Clark buttoned up the shirt he had claimed with his heart now racing a little, denying himself the right to witness his reflection until fully and appropriately dressed, as though the suit deserved to be worn properly, as if only then he would be worthy of looking at himself in it. As the final button became fastened to it's intended slit, Clark took in a preparing breath as he tucked the bottom of the shirt into the rightful suit trousers that moments ago claimed his strong and often hidden legs. Reluctantly, in fear of a disappointing final image, Clark rose his head and then his eyes so that he may look upon himself in his inappropriately borrowed attire. Blunt irony struck him as instantly as he eyed the man that stood on the other side of the looking glass, his face so ridden with shock and awe however understated, even though it's barer should have known exactly what to expect; but he didn't. Clark had worn suits before, and he had never felt anything but a stranger to them; his frame and arms too robust, his nature too unassuming and grounded, his attitude and approach too gallant. But this suit was unlike any he had donned before, and not simply because it was more exquisite or expensive than any other that had graced him, nor even for the fact that this particular suit made him not only look, but also feel like he was worth a million dollars for every pound he weighed. The one daunting, and energetic reason why this one suit had infused Clark with a sensation of unequalled exhilaration, attractiveness and self pride was simply this; it was Oliver's.

Clark's head rushed with an unusually soothing buzz of thoughts that sped in at a quickness even he, who could beat a bullet in a race, was taken back by. Thoughts of how this fine clothing had known Oliver's golden skin, how an undeniable trace of his friend must have therefore lingered within them, and how now he shared union with such traces of the man. Thoughts of how no matter what Oliver wore or didn't wear, he always looked expensive, rich and wanton, and how his very presence in a room was like a sought after diamond to those who come to know of it. Thoughts indeed, of how now that he had touched upon such conclusions, Clark was sure that he could smell whatever there was to smell of Oliver that wasn't simply clean or new, the unique aromatic fingerprint of his natural, light musk along with his carefully selected cologne of choice. And then there was one final, abrupt thought that fought away all the others, however nicely they warmed at his skin. Although alone, Kent was nevertheless embarrassed as his widened eyes looked down to confirm that which the tight constriction of upmarket fabric surrounding his pelvis had alerted him to; a fully formed, hotly blooded and vigorously throbbing erection too gargantuan and charged to ignore or hide from himself or anybody else that might near him. Unfortunate for him then, that even these hurried and critical thoughts be justly undermined by yet another unforeseen occurrence, one that could easily be the least desirable of all universally possible; the intrusion of his friend's already approached voice.

"Clark…what the-", Oliver asked in an indeterminate but strident tone that demanded Clark face and respond to him. Clark though, shamefaced for a few quickly depleting moments of obscurity, had other plans, such as developing the superhuman power to spontaneously combust and take the entire world with him if only it would mean he didn't have to confront what he was certain he was about to.

At first dumbfounded at the peculiarity of finding his otherworldly friend in his dressing room uninvited, which also meant of course that the large superhuman had also granted himself invitation to his friend's bedroom, the rightful territorial feelings that claimed Oliver's active line of thought whilst happening upon his intrusive friend cavorting around in his clothing in an unexpected and unfathomable manner, such feelings were soon rendered obsolete, in the discovery of something for more captivating; the colossally built Kryptonian's thought dominating erection.

As the usually confident Queen's dark and soulful eyes darted upwards from Clark's more prohibited and currently very delicate of areas, he registered the instant detonation of his larger friend's nerves filling the room with a heavily felt sense of startling unease; Clark's eyes seemed knowing of where Oliver's had roamed.

"Oliver I, it's not-", a painfully fretful Clark struggled to speak, his own distressed tension robbing him of any fully formed sentence.

"-Not the first time you've raided my panty drawer?", Oliver shot a blushing Clark with a tranquilizing smile, intending for a feigned comedic approach to remedy the potentially troublesome situation, and while his efforts would unfold as successful, initially they were met by an unsure Clark who was certain he had foreseen a far worse series of events in his immediate future, "Relax Clark, it's not like I have a lock on my door…but in future, you might want to demonstrate some of that typical Kent hospitality you're famous for before you start dressing yourself in my clothes.", the secret archer spoke to Clark somewhat more firmly now in order to inject a tangible sense of rationale to the playful illusion he had just cast over the true and less bearable reality involved with his exposed and troubled ally.

"I just-", Clark's watered mouth failed him once more, but where his tongue found hardship his mind did not. There were two fundamental possibilities; Clark could embarrass himself by staggering through a series of shameful and uncomfortable admissions, or alternatively he could assume that Oliver had neither suspected not witnessed anything untoward as suggested and in doing so evade any unsavoury discussions as well as any turbulence towards his friendship with the golden haired man who stood so effortlessly and yet with such zeal before him. Ultimately preferring one potential outcome to another, Clark silenced his better sense of righteousness if only temporarily, "-I just came by to see you…when I realized you weren't here, I guess I got carried away…", Clark began to clarify, the shy rush of rose slowly starting to fade from his cheeks, "…Chloe asked me to give her away on her wedding day and -"

"-And you remembered that I have more formal wear than any single man should legally be allowed to possess?", Oliver interrupted, helping a clumsily worded Clark to better explain the situation, rescuing him from self-sabotage, noting that Clark took full advantage of that wide eyed look of sparkling childlike innocence he often executed, which admittedly could allow him to evade almost any incrimination.

"Something like that.", a docile looking Clark lightly grinned while speaking both warmly and as though slightly defeated, thankful that his friend could articulate an unfinished sentence which if otherwise left to spawn may not have ended quite as well, "But this is…I shouldn't have-", Clark began to confess a part of the guilt he had chosen to more suitably moderate.

"-It's fine Clark, I get it…and I'd be happy to do you a favour in the wardrobe department, I know how much Chloe means to you…and no offence Clark but I think being granted the honour of giving her away deserves for something a little more refined than can be found in some generic rental store.", Oliver beamed with generosity, although beneath such projections of genuine sentiment, the wealthy heir found himself irritated by the fact that Clark had made a conscious decision to keep his body somewhat turned away from him, denying Oliver any witness to whether his enormous appendage was still rigid in a titillated fullness of rushed blood flow. Fortunately for Oliver, being a shrewd businessman came with certain creative advantages when it came to acquiring what one wanted, "But not that.", it took Clark a moment to realise that Oliver had referred to his current choice of attire, and how it was for whatever reason unsuitable, "For starters it's not exactly a good fit…you may not have noticed Clark, but what we have in common when it comes to leading double lives and women troubles, we lack in any sort of general physical similarity.".

The line of Clark's brow raised all at once with all the adorability of a child who looked on to a parent disappointed in his own foolish yet charming mistake as the suit he once thought made him look so amazing suddenly became unfitting, as though Oliver's claims had literally bent reality just by being spoken. The cuffs cut too prematurely at Clark's wrist, the collar although unfastened pinched too tightly at Clark's neck, even the buttons of the shirt were too tight, and Clark could even feel his chest pressing too tightly at the confounds of the shirt's fabric as he continued to breathe. He felt so stupid for not being able to comprehend what had been so clearly in front of him, that he had needed Oliver to shed light on something which shouldn't have needed his friend's assistance to be so obvious. For a second of meekness, Clark agreed to himself that he should have expected no less of his untrained eyes, Oliver was simply more refined than him, he always would be, Oliver would know how a man should be dressed, and short of knowing that men are not traditionally meant to wear women's clothing, Clark did not.

"Besides, I'm thinking black is not your colour…not any more. I mean the old Clark who never took risks, who looked at the world through rose coloured spectacles? Sure, black was a go…but the new and improved Clark who leaves his seatbelt unfastened for the first thirty seconds of any given car ride? Black just won't do.", Queen taunted Clark in a friendly manner, lightening the mood further, Clark taking note of a growing realisation that often when Oliver spoke to him, it felt like his sun kissed confidante was throwing him a playful wink when in fact he was not, and this was one of those times.

"Funny.", Kent unknowingly and reluctantly admitted, met only by the agreeable smirk of the impressive man across from him, "So what do you suggest…I'm Clark Kent remember, I don't think making a statement is something I was born to do at the best of times, least of all with clothing."

The svelte bowman fought back the urge to demand that Clark stop doubting himself, after all it would lead to nowhere, "Well I think you can manage updating your look to one that more closely resembles the new millennia we're living in, even if it's just for a day.", tired of Clark's coyness, Oliver assaulted him with mild mockery just enough to keep it at bay, "Actually…", Queen quickly turned to his side, and pushed aside a number of hanging garments with the leverage of his arm, careful fingers reaching through the space then made in pursuit of something they knew to be there, or thereabouts, "…I might have just the thing.", the blonde playboy assertively claimed, pulling a large lidded box from a compartment previously shrouded by an assortment of neatly hanging garments. And then Clark was startled again, because as soon as he allowed his eyes to focus solely upon the rectangular container Oliver's hands had just found, those same hands were handling him from behind, unsheathing his shoulders from the black jacket still partially covering his back.

"Oliver!"

"Not this again.", Queen uttered lowly, remembering how their last meeting resulted in Clark using his name as a standalone sentence one too many times.

"What are you-", Clark yelped, caught unawares, but unable to finish his reactive question.

"-Well Clark, while I fully appreciate that you are in many ways no more than a humble farmboy, I have to trust that even you are aware of the simple fact that two suits can't be worn at once.", Oliver's quick tongue poked further fun in the shyer young man's direction.

Clark's eyes wandered without conscious decision as his mind did the same thing, in search of a course of logic to follow. This was probably an ordinary practice of behaviour amongst people like Oliver, assisting in the grooming of their friends. It didn't feel uncomfortable or suspicious, in fact Clark was surprised at how ordinary it felt, but then Oliver's hands went about their business so calmly, and with such a quick subtlety, that any other conclusion would have been impossible to draw.

"…Right.", Clark consented, having given fresh decision to new and unfamiliar concepts, trying not to show any unease, and feeling much less than he thought he would have had in such a situation a few weeks ago. He did trust Oliver for whatever irregular reason, and he wanted to prove to Oliver that he could fit into his world without having to be worked around. And so, he proceeded to stand calmly as Oliver continued to undress him…although after coming around from his most previous bout of ponderings, Clark found himself to be more unclothed than he'd have expected in such a short amount of time, the direct image of his well formed torso bare and staring back at him in the reflection cast by an adjacent mirror. Apparently, for all his inhuman capabilities of rapid motion Clark had underestimated the regular human speed of certain individuals.

"You're warm.", Oliver offhandedly observed, as his hands gracefully tended to Clark's trouser fastenings, and just like that, the situation had become once again changed.

Being told he was warm by Oliver, forced Clark to experience current events with an entirely different perspective. At the end of Oliver's claim, Kent's powerful body was overcome by a rush of heat that left a cool buzz in it's wake; his words were making things happen again, overruling natural reality just by leaving the lips of their beautiful master. Now, each casual touch Oliver cast upon Clark, even if merely the grazing of his wrists against Clark's waist, became felt, became known, became wanted. And then another realization forced it's way through Kent's reeling wits; Oliver was tending to that place, that area, and although it seemed he meant no illicit sexual imposition, Clark couldn't help but start feeling, knowing and wanting that too. And once again, Clark had gotten himself into a potentially compromising position, as while his will tried hard to defy it, with each heartbeat his only recently relaxed cock began to throb with a force that caused it to rise and grow an unfathomable fraction of an inch with every pulse. From this point, Clark chose not to share glances with Oliver…whenever he did that seemed to be when the worst things had happened, and at least this way he would never know what his friend's eyes had happened upon, if anything.

"What's up Clark, you seem lost for words all of a sudden.", Oliver asked tamely, although given Clark's rising predicament, his selection of words were quite choice.

"No, it's-", now was really not a time for Clark to exhibit a tardiness of words, any gap in his speech would be an opportunity for his colleague to become distracted from fluid interaction, which could lead to him seeing the again hard protrusion that shot from the centre of the dark haired male's pelvis with all the inelegance and inarguable bulk of a beached whale. Clark would have to keep conversation fluid in hopes to prevent such distractions, even if it meant a divergence from typical and more idyllic standards of honesty, "-I just guess a lot of things are hitting me all at once. Chloe and Jimmy getting married, and don't get me wrong I'm happy for them but will it mean I'm losing a friend, the first and only friend I ever really chose to trust with my secret, someone I've always been able to count on. And then I got to thinking…will I ever have that? I mean how can I ever have a wife given the constant danger she'd be in just by being near me, how could I do that to someone I love enough to marry? And on top of it all, I think I just missed my only chance to ever be a father-", Clark found a way to lie by telling the truth, although even with the softness and authenticity of his expressed sentiments, his superhuman penis still refused to yield.

"-Wait Clark, what? You, a father? When did this happen?", Queen asked while kneeling and snaking Clark's legs from the black dress trousers that were now gathered in a mess of sewn fabric surrounding the standing man's feet.

"Maxima, an alien Queen who came to Earth looking for the perfect mate to continue her lineage with. In her search for a Kryptonian, she almost killed Jimmy…and Lois…"

"And I thought I was a hit with the ladies, then there's you being sought after as a mate by a woman from across the galaxy who's never even laid eyes on you, just for what sounds like meaningless sex.", Oliver noticed Clark's momentary grin reflected by the nearby mirror, but also made sure to follow up his light heartedness with some contributions that would prevent him from seeming insensitive, "I keep forgetting what a regular day in the life of Clark Kent consists of…and I'm no saint Clark…I'm hardly qualified to give myself advice and in comparison to yours, my life is pretty simple. But I'm here, if you ever need to talk.", and Oliver knew how positively Clark responded to that golden halo of his, whenever he took it out for a polish.

"Thanks Ollie…", he called him Ollie again, and it had been the first time this night, "…I'm not so sure that any of it can be made sense of. I don't know if I'm even ready for the answers to the questions I have.", although his glances continued to shy away from contact with Oliver's, Clark's eyes shone with a calm sadness, one that he would never allow to spawn tears, for he felt his own emotions too unimportant in the grand scheme of things, too unimportant for him to show them to the world in a way it would be forced to respond to.

"Maybe you're not meant to be ready yet, maybe the answers are meant to come to you as you go…let's face it Clark none of us come with an instruction booklet, least of all you.", the golden haired millionaire offered an alternative wisdom to the younger man that was kinder than his delicate touch, softly put and firmly received Those strong hands of his now buttoning a different white shirt over Clark's statuesque torso, hands travelling downwards as they tended to their work, which only made the Kryptonian's cock anticipate their nearing, and begin to throb at full force again; this time, Oliver noticed. So interesting how realms of sensation and perception shift into one another, as earlier Clark was exhilarated by Oliver's unknowing touch, and now Oliver's understanding of this allowed him to tap into the shared energy between them, made him start to enjoy the touches he stole from Clark's skin that much more, as though their sensory pleasures conducted through one another, spilled through the skin at point of contact and fed the opposing energy. Apparently, upon such findings both men became stilled by an inexplicably shared connection, something that ran deeper than words or typically confirmed witness could, something beneath it all; primal, primitive, wanting answering to want. Oliver couldn't take his eyes off Clark's massive unearthly member; where before he had been playfully impressed, he was now fixated and awestruck. He'd never seen anything like it, in person or in porn, and not only for it's sheer size and unthinkable bulk, but also because it made him want to look at it, want to be captivated by it. As his hand's fasted the final button, he felt an invisible chasm threatening to tinker with the better judgement of his motor function, wanting his hands to do other work, forcing him to know it was possible. Upon awareness of salivating Oliver saw fit to break the silence, lightened by Clark's visibly pointed coyness in contrast to the unapologetic weapon that resided between his legs, "Looks like I was right, a perfect fit.", he changed the dreary subject and broke the ice that had came to them of late in the form of dangerous silence, still his eyes found it difficult to pry away from the super human's meaty Kryptonian throbber.

It took Clark a moment to snap out of the lucid spell of toxic arousal that had dominated his perceptions, before responding to Queen, "Why would you even have a suit in my size lying around?", he asked, setting a tone of innocence that seemed worlds away from the one both men surrendered to only moments ago.

"Actually Clark I was keeping it for myself-"

"But you're not-"

"Yes I know I'm not you're size…", and that much had been made clear on numerous occasions, and in different ways, "…but once upon a time I was planning on bulking out. A boy can dream…he can also wake up to perfect body that's different to the one he first thought of having.", Clark slipped out a goofy, fanged smile, "Something funny, Clark?", Oliver shot, guiding the new trousers over Clark's bare, muscular legs, hands secretly appreciating the tender calves that resided there.

"It's just…I can't imagine you wanting to look any different.", Clark freely explained.

"Was that a compliment?", Oliver clearly liked the idea of his assumption being correct and the sudden glow of his face made no secret of it.

"I'm just saying…haven't you always been perfect?", and in Clark's own unique way, Oliver's assumptions were more than confirmed.

"Wow, well thanks Clark…having my body merited by a superhuman who could bench press me even without his powers will do wonders for my ego.", those pools of chocolate he saw with sent randomly patterned expressions of appreciation and thanks all over Clark's body, just as well then that Clark was not facing him or peering at him through use of the mirror in front of him. Now that Clark's new trousers had been pulled up, at least that obnoxiously proportioned tool of Clark's wouldn't be demanding the tanned elder's attentions quite so much.

"It's not like I'm given much choice but to form an opinion, you're always-"

"-Yes I know Clark, that fact has been well established.", not that he was ashamed of it, but Oliver simply didn't see the need to once again discuss his regular semi-nudity within the comforts of his own home.

"But you're not now.", then came the colossus' realisation that Oliver was in fact clothed, at current.

"Well Clark, while the establishments I frequent at night do not have a particularly strict dress code, they share an unspoken rule against partial male nudity."

"You were out?"

"Still am, well besides now. I only dropped by to pick something up for Bart, but little did I know you'd be-"

"-You're out with Bart?", Clark quickly interrupted, in part because he didn't want to have the night's event's rehashed, in larger part because he wasn't sure how he felt about Oliver spending time with the only living being faster than a Kryptonian.

"Yes Clark, and this surprises you why? I work with him on a regular basis…you know, because some of us actually agreed to be part of a team and combine our abilities and efforts. See this funny thing happens when you work alongside people…over a period of time, you develop what we earthlings call a friendship, after which we might decide to go out together for drinks once in a while.", Oliver's sophisticated sarcasm was gently expressed as he guided Clark's arms upwards and fed them steadily into the sleeves of the newly gifted dress jacket. Conversation had seemed to finally tame the beast of Clark's loins, which while slightly disappointing to Queen, also granted him a sense of relief.

"That's not fair Oliver, I told you why I couldn't commit to the team.", the Kryptonian genuinely fretted, "And wait…are you saying we're not friends?"

"You know for a ridiculously burly man, you really have a hankering for the melodramatic don't you.", the deviant playboy gloated, victoriously.

"Ollie!", Clark said the magic word, more magic because he was so concerned and therefore vulnerable.

"Of course we're friends Clark, and more so because we don't just work together. Why else would I give you a room in my penthouse suite, and then personally dress you in a never before worn Armani after finding you jacking off in my clothes, or whatever it was you were doing in my dressing suite before I got here."

"Ollie I wasn't!", Clark stressed, with underlying truths hitting too close to home, immediately provoking Oliver's charismatic laughter, which somehow twisted all realms of possibility by making the millionaire even more attractive than he already was, "Very funny.", Clark thankfully and swiftly resided to the apparent reality that his friend was merely mocking him again, which seemed to be a consistent and growing pattern.

After a period spent on relishing his mischievous success over Clark, Oliver gestured to the mirror before his darker haired friend to inform him that he was now fully dressed in a new, more fitting, designer outfit, "Well look at that, looks like I was right…Armani agrees with you."

Although he was not well versed on the subject of designer clothing and how it was suited to individuals in general, Clark had to admit that he could see exactly what Oliver was saying. He looked expensive, and rare, like someone…like Oliver; the suit he'd tried on before made him look like a joke in comparison. He even felt different, the air around him seemed instantly cooler, his head clearer, a sense of confidence overcame him; he'd never seen himself look so good, he never knew he could. Of course, such feelings of self pride were unusual to Clark, and naturally he would not only feel guilty for harbouring them, but also he would be inclined to dismiss them, if not for the intervention of his friend.

"I'm not sure Ollie, the colour is-", the Smallville native worried that the black suit with an edgy midnight blue metallic finish when under light, was a little too flamboyant for his unassuming demeanour.

"Fine Clark, the colour is fine, and Clark…I have to say, if you wear that suit for too long I might just have to turn for you.", Oliver unceremoniously confirmed Clark's new feelings of self worth, implementing obscure and inappropriate suggestions in a fashion that only he could, without agitating the otherworldly hero.

"Seriously? You think I look…attractive?", how Clark couldn't fathom himself as attractive escaped Oliver.

"Yes Clark seriously, I do…and not because of what you're wearing. But you, in that suit…you will practically hear all the pussies in the room getting wet…I bet you'd even put my womanizing wares to shame."

"Oliver!", a shy Clark was hassled by his friend's comfortable openness with such extrovert language and sexual suggestion whenever it was so direct and unpredicted.

"Again with the Oliver! Look, if you don't believe me, see for yourself. Come meet Bart with me, kill two birds with one stone…break in your new look, and see if I'm wrong.", Oliver was even prepared to initialize a wager, but he knew Clark was not the sort of person to take pleasure in the prospect of reaping the seeds of a sewn forfeit.

"I don't know, I mean I should pay you before-"

"-Clark I am not taking any money from you, it's a gift."

"I can't just-"

"-You can."

And then there was a felt period of silence which Oliver loved, because it involved Clark's eyes roaming around to create a facial illustration of adorable bewilderment.

"Look it's your's and Bart's night out, you should get back to him."

"What Clark, you think we're married or something? He's a guy I get along with…it's not like he cares whether you're there with us or not, he'd probably be happy to see you."

"Are you sure I don't look-"

"-Yes I'm sure…so shall I grab you a pair of shoes and call up the elevator?"

"We're the same size? How did you know?"

"Not much gets by me, Clark.", the handsome archer informed his friend, handing him a pair of shoes taken from one of the shelved spaces of his dressing suite, "So, are you in?"

At first Clark intended to answer reluctantly, but catching another glimpse of himself in a nearby wall-mounted mirror as he walked by, he paused, gave himself a noteworthy once-over, and replied in a much varied approach to that which he first felt appropriate, "I'm in."

------------------------------------------------------------

Walking in to the Ace of Clubs was intimidating enough for Clark, but having more than a dozen pair of sophisticated eyes predatorily marking him, seemingly before he even walked in, was quite something else. As Clark was paid much unexpected yet clearly determined attention, and slowly quivered in disbelief and unease, Oliver austerely sneered in his friend's favour, offering a series of almost imperceptive gestures as onlookers gifted Kent with explicitly complimentary and incisive observations. Clark was, to say the least, uncomfortable with such unspoken praise…he never knew such approval could be given with but the strength of an eye's reactive direction, he was not used to it, his skin ad all beneath it felt unasked for yet so automatically rewarded, causing much disorientation within the Smallville native. As though circumstances couldn't get any worse, Clark now had to behave like he was comfortable around Bart, who was in all honesty a fundamental reprobate by impulse; while Clark had found it fairly possible to interact in the communicative yet exquisitely foreign language of Oliver Queen, forthcoming interactions with another superhumanly powered individual would not prove so possibly translatable. Clark felt his blonde and stylish friend's eyes punching areas of his body with sentiments that told him so, as he spotted Bart by the minor assistance of Oliver's gestures glances and took a seat in the booth that the immoral speedster inhabited, opposite him, a table creating distance between the two unordinary humanoids.

"Clark? What are you doing here? Isn't crocheting more your thing?", Bart asked, through an impetuous grin, much to the detest of Oliver who had just slipped him a small bubble wrapped package.

"Give it a rest Bart, Clark isn't half as predictable as you might think…and besides, he's my guest.", the last half of the sharply sighted millionaire's interjection was seriously toned, rousing the motion of the inhumanly brisk young man's head in such a way that Bart faced Oliver.

"Geez poshboy, what gives? Protective much?"

Not wanting Oliver to have to defend him, Clark spoke out to Bart, his voice fighting through the din of music that clambered through the atmosphere in a notable strain, "It's fine Bart, Oliver just wants us all to get along."

"I can do that.", Bart sniggered unknowingly, his smile both ugly and cute at the same time, "So Clark, what's with funky threads? Hate to admit it but they're drawing a lot more attention to this table than before you got here.", Bart conceded per his richer superior's unspoken request to cut the farmboy a break.

"It's a long story…but thanks.", Clark shied away from divulging it he depth of his luxurious appearance, afraid of becoming even a temporary egotist.

"I always meant to ask you…how do you even…", Bart turned his head to knowingly peer at Oliver, who he was sure had occurred upon the same wonderings, "…you know…make it with someone."

"Make it?", the naiveté of Clark never ceased to amaze any witness.

"He means how you manage to fuck someone, Clark…without killing them.", Oliver explained, through the brightest smile Clark had ever seen from him, which seemed perhaps in brightness alone, intent upon offending him. Clark simply shifted the direction of his gazes abruptly between Oliver and Bart, so clearly distressed with regards to how he should respond to Oliver's comment, "Oh come on Clark, we're all adults."

"Barely.", Kent insisted, frowning upon the youthful and irritating face of Bart, which didn't do much to bother the superior speedster.

"No, seriously…I mean…couldn't you like, impale someone with your spunk?", Bart inappropriately and obnoxiously asked, his punishing smirk taunting Clark, who could not believe that people found it so easy to use such language in casual conversation.

"It doesn't work like that."

"Really Clark, because I heard a story about your sneezes blowing holes through walls…", the eldest man present at the table proposed that Clark's bodily functions were not so easy to control, much to the amusement of an impish Bart.

"That was different!", the Kryptonian was boyishly frustrated with the ostracizing efforts of the other two men, against his otherworldly character, "Anything you can do-"

"You can do better? We know that much, Clark.", Queen interrupted, disallowing Clark the right to give rationale to any misunderstood supposing of his advanced bodily functions.

"Come on Clark, you can melt metal with your eyes and send cars flying through the air with a cough…you expect us to believe you never had problems when it came to nutting off? It's not like the most ordinary of us have any control over how we lose a load.", the annoyingly unattractive Bart repellently implied, much to Clark's chagrin. Kent's disinclination to believe that others spoke so uncensored in place of appropriate conversation, continued, accompanied by a noble if notable frown.

"Not any more…I mean, the first few times…when I started…well, you know…"

"What Clark, your spunk broke through a wall and landed a farmhand with a mild concussion when you were nine?", Oliver chirped in, which further agitated the large alien's brow.

"No Oliver…", Clark grew tired of the joint rivalry that proceeded to rise against him, however inoffensively it was intended. Still, the night sky shimmer of the suit he had donned at his friend behest seemed to help in the deflection of any infarction to Clark's character, "…let's just say everything you've learnt to do took a little bit more time and effort when I was growing up. I've used your toilet, and it's still intact isn't it?"

"No fun Clark, you never spill the beans…", Bart suggested, but unbeknownst to him, while Clark was still undoubtedly himself, he wasn't feeling quite so inhibited as usual.

"Fine…I took out two tractors three walls and a ceiling before I learned to catch it in my hand…and then…well you know…not to…do it so hard.", Clark attempted to unashamedly admit, to some succession, inciting the shared laughter of Bart and Oliver, "Well I'm glad you both find it so funny, I don't.", the other two men didn't understand that while even Clark could admit that certain aspects of his life's past were amusing, being different came with it's hardships; even though he could himself find laughter in such things now, Clark's odd aging experiences were but some of the many things that made him feel that he didn't belong to this world that he loved and cared for so much.

"We're not clowning you Clark…well, I mean granted…hearing you talk about anything involving your penis or ejaculation is beyond amusing…but seriously, any guy would give his left testicle for the right to claim that his jerk off sessions often ended in reconstruction work.", for once, Clark could stand Bart's reckless disregard for being appropriate in that which he shared with him through spoken word.

"So I suppose I should thank you both for laughing at my expense?" Kent asked rhetorically, his worn and immaculate garments granting him a cockiness in projection and body language that was vehemently atypical of him. Luckily, the alternative pair of young men were saved by the bell of Bart's incoming cell phone call alert, denying any further relative comment being made towards Clark's conversational contributions.

A number of moments passed as Bart tended to the voice on the other end of his cell phone.

"Looks like I gotta bounce, Black Canary needs back up…nothing major but you know me, metabolism of a laser beam on crack…can't help myself.", and although he wouldn't dare hurt Bart's feeling by telling him so, Clark was glad that he'd soon be rid of the troublesome speedster, "You guys don't mind?"

"Not at all Bart…when duty calls…", Oliver answered, indeterminably satisfied with the revelation of Bart's oncoming absence.

"Well Clark, I'll see you again…and Ollie, don't get the Kryptonian too drunk.", and within a fraction of a second, Bart was gone in a blur of gaseous colour that only Clark could see, which the mighty outlander thought somewhat irresponsible.

"He's right…he is a laser beam on crack.", the incredibly attractive powerhouse acidic ally shot, as a sharply dressed hostess delivered a number of various drinks to the table before him, which given the telling look which poured forth from Oliver so unstrained, had already been arranged.

"Nice, so Clark Kent get's catty on occasion.", Oliver noted.

"He calls you Ollie too?", Clark quizzed, displeased by the fact that such a namesake may not be specifically unique to him.

"I think that was the first time Clark…I wouldn't worry, I'll always be a different sort of Ollie to you.", and with that, Clark wasn't sure that he could be magnetized towards Oliver any more than currently possible, a gleeful yet feint smile bursting through his lips for a moment while he peered cautiously over to his effortlessly attractive colleague, "So, how goes the outfit?"

"I feel like a sideshow…people looking at me for no reason I can explain is not exactly something I'm comfortable with.", Clark's eyes begged his wealthy friend for understanding, as he visibly opposed the onlookers who were so obviously commenting on his temporarily famed presence, no matter their distance from him.

"You're definitely no sideshow, Clark.", having to stop himself from swaying his head from side to side in contest, Oliver found Kent's inability to realise his own general worth quite tiresome by now.

"Right, now that you have me here in some place I don't belong, dressed like Chuck Bass."

"Clark, you don't watch Gossip Girl."

"Can't be so bad if you watch it."

"I don't…I caught a few episodes due to a vested interest…I was asked to appear in a few episodes but…well, other priorities got in the way of that."

"It must be hard to be Oliver Queen.", Clark displayed his first true execution of sarcasm towards Oliver, which caught his sun kissed friend by some surprise, especially because it was a somewhat fierce brand of sarcasm at that.

"It is, especially when you find out that your best friend watches Gossip Girl.", Oliver counteractively quipped.

"I watch it when there's nothing else to do, OK? I've barely had the time with all my work at the Daily Planet…I like Chuck and Serena…you remind of me of him.", Clark mildly grinned with an auspicious light ebbing form his upwardly anchored lips, "Wait…I'm your best friend?", the premature Superman was ecstatic at the prospect.

"Here we go again with the Clark Kent dramatics.", Oliver casually mocked in a way that seemed to be a little bit friendly, his dark eyes threatening to roll.

"No…it just…it means a lot to me Ollie, I mean you're you…and I'm just…me, a simple farmboy from nowheresville America…it's not like I deserve a friend like you, let alone a best friend.", and even the Green Arrow found it impossible to lay target upon how Clark could be any more endearing, so humbled and dignified, while at the same time unassuming of his own undeniable brilliance; he was worth so much more than Oliver's friendship.

"What about Lex?"

"He tried to kill me, he stole my girlfriend, he was more in love with my secret than me."

"You wanted him to be in love with you?"

"You know what I mean.", Clark's arched brow let Oliver know of his distain towards his fairer coloured friend's light hearted derision.

Again, another pause gave way.

"About before…I mean, from what you said…you're not a virgin are you Clark?", Oliver's curiosity, spurred on from previous revelations that Clark divulged, had gotten the better of him, but either answer worried Queen for either could be just as awkwardly appealing.

"Oliver!"

"Clark…", Oliver had no intent to finish his sentence, his lower, prolonged tone meant to remind Clark again of how unwelcome he was to say his name as a stressed, standalone comment.

"Does it matter?"

"That's a yes, then."

"No it's not…I'm not a virgin Oliver, and from what you've heard about my red Kryptonite experiences alone, you should at least have some idea-"

"-No harm in checking Clark. What about you and Lana?"

"You've got your answer, I don't want to talk about Lana.", Clark sheepishly commented,

"How cavalier of you Clark, not to kiss and tell.", Oliver credited.

"I leave that to the Victoria's Secret models you sleep with.", Clark flashed another fanged and goofy grin in Oliver's direction.

"You know Clark, not to sound weird or anything but…all night, you've been glowing…are you sure you didn't seal the deal with Maxima?", through a lowly lit curl of lips, Oliver inquired.

"Really?", for a few seconds, Clark tried to figure out whether Oliver's claims where true, only to realise that while his eyes had superhuman capabilities, they could not protrude from his head and explore any glow that might be present amidst his body, "Maybe it's the endorphins."

"Endorphins?", authentically, the expensively dressed archer was confused for once.

"Maxima…her kiss came with a severe infusion of endorphins, that's what almost killed Jimmy."

"Well that might explain a few things.", Oliver supposed, not wanting it to be proved that Clark's earlier arousal in his fitting room was merely due to an overdose of interplanetary sex toxins, "Clark-", he almost stopped himself, his eyes sharp and decisive in their stares that aimed towards his massive and classically handsome friend, "-I saw you before."

"When…earlier today?", the grounded journalistic intern knew not of what instance of interception his deemed more impressive friend could be speaking of.

"More like earlier tonight.", the elegantly masculine bowman revealed with an unmistakably significant undertone to his voice, and while such an admission lacked much in the way of vivid detail, it was more than enough to make the darkly emerald eyes of Clark Kent shudder in apprehension, "Clark, it's no big deal…well I mean the situation, clearly that thing between your legs is more than to be described as just a big deal.", and Oliver beamed again, always in his element when his winning smile, charged by wit, claimed superiority over every single part of Clark's humanoid form.

"Oliver, why didn't you…", the colossal Kryptonian became flustered, overcome with the feeling that Oliver was cheating him out of deserved honesty, "…you should have said…friends aren't supposed to lie to each other, you're just like Le-"

"-Now now Clark, allow me to prevent you from making a big mistake…never compare me to Lex Luthor…and not because I'd be more than willing to use your weaknesses against you if you do so, but instead because it would mean the end of us ever being able to be friends.", Oliver unearthed his more demanding and executive side, a side of him that until now Clark had not been fully introduced to; he was all business.

The palpable look of regret washed upon Clark's face was almost enough to allow him automated forgiveness, but not quite, "Why does this keep happening? Every time I think that everything is fine between us, someone else gets in the way of our friendship.", Clark pleaded, desperately.

"It's in the way of our friendship now? Always quick to jump to the worst possible conclusion, aren't you Clark?", Oliver reprimanded Clark like a father dissatisfied with his son's petulant behaviour, "If you're so intent on us no longer being friends, then so be it Clark, I'm not going to fight losing battle, and frankly I'm tired of having to work around the labyrinth of your inferiority complex.", Oliver was clearly in no mood for Clark's inclination to approach obstacles from a negative angle, even refusing to hold his head in any direction that may potentially allow for him to pay any attention to Clark, his arms folded.

"Oliver, I want us to be friends, but we have to trust one another…and this seems to be an issue that refuses to go away."

"Well Clark, why don't you go away?", Clark had only ever experienced Oliver being this temperamental once before, and he didn't enjoy it then either. The truth was, Clark had no ideal set upon displeasing the golden haired playboy let alone falling out with him, but through no chosen course he seemed to be making any alternative increasingly difficult for himself, "That would make a whole lot of sense wouldn't it, letting the fact that I saw you're horrifyingly large hard-on thumping through a pair of my trousers, end our friendship."

"But you saw-"

"-So what Clark, why do you give a shit really? Shouldn't it be me who is offended, after all it was you who was in my closet with a raging boner, not the other way around…and it's not like I haven't seen your dick before!", Oliver was pulling no punches, not phased by the fact that in success of angering his present social adversary he could become no more than a broken skeleton in no time at all.

"Well…why didn't you tell me?"

"I have just told you Clark…would you rather I told you at the time, or maybe you'd have preferred if I brought up the matter of your ridiculously enormous prick being erect in my bedroom, uninvited, In front of Bart?", what Oliver said, stood to reason, and Clark knew either of the options just mentioned would not have been ideal in the slightest, his face melted into a reclined sense of reasoning.

"It wasn't your bedroom-"

"My dressing suite in a part of my bedroom Clark, it's the same fucking thing.", the last time Kent had seen his quiver-wielding friend this raw with abrupt anger, he was shooting up some sort of synthesized Kryptonite cocktail.

"You don't care?", a slightly dumbfounded Clark tried to make sense of his friend's ease.

"When are you going to get it Clark, it takes more than some mildly fucked up sexual disclosure to rattle my cage."

While his better judgement insisted he do otherwise, Clark found himself looking to Oliver apologetically and also lucky that he had anyone in his life who could be quite so understanding, which seemed to escape his capability of believing, "You really don't care?"

"No Clark I don't, so can we drop it?"

"If…that's what you want.", Clark surrendered, after which he found an unusual and deviant grin growing forth from his mouth, devilishly.

"Just one thing I want to know, and be honest…", Clark took a breath as he waited for Oliver's question, cautious as to what it might be, because he may find it impossible to answer dishonestly, "…was it because of the endorphins or not?"

"Well-", Clark began clumsily, through hindered breath "-they couldn't have helped-"

"Just answer the question.", Queen demanded arrogantly and yet without exclamation, so beautiful in his arrogance, so strong and deserving of his demands; still golden when dark.

"Honestly, Oliver? I don't think so…Maxima's endorphins heightened my arousal, but they didn't make me feel anything I wasn't already…", Clark paused, fretting in the realisation of what he was admitting, "…wasn't already inclined towards.", the truly deadly quiver made by Oliver's delectable red lips had been stirred which meant that finally he was no longer mad at his otherworldly friend.

"So…Clark Kent has a bit of a turn in his worm for the Queenmeister, then?", Oliver was loving it, and unashamedly lapping up every second of it, which Clark should have hated, but didn't…although otherwise pretences were allowed.

"I don't know…I don't want to talk about it.", Kent appealed for the matter to be ceased, green eyes hesitantly shifting to one side, where they then remained.

"Fine then Clark, I'll talk about it…or at least my part-"

"-You have…a part?"

"Oh come on Clark, I'm Oliver Queen the orgy having miscreant who made you whip out your dick to settle a score…mostly just because I could, and you find it hard to believe that I'm not completely innocent in the matter of what's going on between us.", Oliver exposed his involvement in the chasm of desire that ricocheted between himself and Clark, confidently and without any sense of refrain.

"Oliver, what are you saying?", Clark's beholding look unto his rich and beautiful friend was akin to that which could be expected of a child to Jesus.

"I'm saying that I like you too Clark, more than just a friend.", Clark was afraid to respond at all to that, in fear of what he might say for being the truth, or worse yet another vocal incident of foot in mouth disease which could spoil this particularly deafening moment, "Don't just look at me with those stupid green eyes."

"You know that they're green."

"It is a colour I favour."

And with just six simple words, Oliver has once again forcefully orchestrated the instruments of each man's surrounding atmosphere, transforming a cold and cutting actuality into one that Clark found to be warm and welcoming, one that he wanted to be part of.

"So what now?", with a seeming absence of wisdom that could be best likened to a child, Clark let his bafflement be known, for once acting bravely and without limiting arrest.

"Well it's not like I want to find out if your orgasm will blow a hole through my torso-", Oliver chuckled silently, and it was a volume of laughter that enthralled Clark's own, dry and silky, golden and sumptuous; a diamond become sound, like each and every one of Oliver's words which when strung together acted as an army at war with what Clark knew himself to be, "-but there are other things I want to find out.", and the sudden change of tone from playful to dominant coincided with Oliver's actions, rising to his feet all of a sudden and forcing Clark to his as well by the adamant grip of his collar. The look in Oliver's eyes was as appreciative as it was predatory, and much to his concern Kent felt his mouth immediately begin to water, succumbing to the projected and wanting glares of his prey maker, the hollow of his bones excited to do so, shrilling in electrifying anticipation.

"Oliver, people can see.", Clark worried of any witness paid to whatever was to come next.

"Then let them see…let them see you, let them see us.", the towering millionaire made quick obedience out of Clark's anxious protest. He dragged his Kryptonian playmate by the collar of his jacket with one hand, a storming haste leading them both to the Ace of Clubs' toilets, he slammed Clark's back against the wall enough to cause some of it's tiles to break. Clark looked on in shock and awe, overwhelmed at the unforgiving fire of Oliver's uncensored lust, finding it hard to believe that a regular human being could exact such force upon him; he underestimated the charge of mortal passion as primal and primitive as that possessed by his friend. Though still his heart raced as Oliver took audible and boisterous tugs at his trouser fastenings, yanking down at the waistline with a feverish hunger once loosened. Clark had no words, his vocabulary had been stolen by the thieving demon of Oliver's severe sexuality, the invulnerable Kryptonian feeling scorched by the presence of his elder friend's no longer silenced heat. And then, Oliver's hands contained themselves, in spite of Clark's most coveted areas being at their utter disposal. They simply grabbed passed Clark's waist, resulting in Clark being held by Oliver, held close, and it didn't feel like Clark thought it should…it didn't feel wrong, it didn't feel effeminate; he was being held as a man, by a man…he was being held how he should be held, he belonged to it and it to him. Oliver's own sordid erection thickly plunged through the fabric of his dress trousers, dipping roughly against Clark's welcoming hips in excruciating intervals, following the natural yet ironically meagre gyrations made naturally by Oliver's keen and well defined body. Oliver perched his chin upon Clark's collarbone kneading into it as he claimed toothed licks and wet warm sucks from the soft virgin skin of Clark's neck. As if he were a telepath, Queen's brazen hand violently grabbed at Clark's now solid prick, and Clark whimpered, which only made the blonde playboy grip that monstrous tool of flesh and sex even harder. Little did Oliver now, Clark's whimper was one born out of a shame that would prove futile.

" Don't…I-", for his relentless exasperation, Clark didn't manage to complete his desperate petition.

Oliver paused at Clark's minutely existent objection, pulling away from that soft neck he once devoured and tasted in an effort to discover what it was Clark was so distressed by. Then he looked down at that mammoth dick that his fist was locked around in a death grip, imprisoned by the soft material of Clark's fitted Calvin Klein boxers, and he discovered what had instigated Clark's bleated shame; dark, syrupy wetness.

"It's not-", Clark insisted in a panicked fluster, but Oliver need not be assured that Clark hadn't lost control of his bladder.

"-I know what it is Clark…it's you, it's yours…it's fucking...", Oliver alternated the tugging motion of his tight clutch around Clark's ample and leaking cockhead between fast and slow, letting his actions speak in place of words he no longer cared to find. His eyes fought a battle they could never win, wanting to oversee the pure liquid sex that drooled from Clark's devastatingly stiff cock, as well as the agonizingly beautiful expressions of tortured bliss bursting forth from Clark's face with every pump Oliver granted Clark's wet, raw helmet. The aggrieved noises of sensation that lay under each of Clark's bated breaths tempted Oliver's own cock to spill forth it's hefty portion of fucksauce without even being touched itself, Oliver fascinated by how angelic and demonic and beautiful Clark looked under his sexual grasp, the Kryptonian jolting around as though he were being burnt alive. The crude scent of the Superman's delicious precum filled the air, hitting the receptors of Oliver's nasal cavity like a mind altering substance, forcing him without choice, to want Clark more. Oliver bit Clark's bottom lip in punishment for his non-consenting power of immediate allure over his golden friend, and thereafter seized a soft and passionate kiss from Clark's just pained lips, the likes of which could be immortalized in art and inspire unbridled notions of beauty and sexual power. And then to the partial numbness of Oliver's calves Clark was kissing him back…and then Clark wasn't kissing him back.

"Oliver…I, we can't.", and this was not what Oliver had recently been envisioning coming out of Clark's bitten mouth, but then what was had not been words at all.

"Not a smart thing to say when your dick's in my hand…and all that-", Clark interrupted Oliver before he had the pleasure of referring to his precum.

"No Oliver, you're not listening…this is wrong, what we're doing…it's a mistake."

"Does it feel like a mistake?"

"Mistakes never do.", and it was at this point that Oliver was reminded of his fist still grasping at Clark's meaty phallic crown, because Clark's own hand had motioned to break the intoxicating embrace.

"Fine Clark, catch your breath…you're still gonna owe me at least half a handjob when you're caught up.", unfortunately this time, Oliver's humorous interjections would not resolve the situation.

"Everything's a joke to you isn't it Oliver? And that's the problem, I'm just some little toy you want to dress up, and break and then fix, and play with whenever you want to. Well I won't be chewed up and spat out like everyone else you've had your way with.", Clark's sudden and unexpected antipathy truthfully took Oliver by surprise, he wasn't expecting this, not given previous situations, "I'm not catching my breath Oliver, I'm leaving, and don't bother following me…I don't want to see you-", and in failing to finishing his sentence with a word that seemed obvious to be 'again', Clark was gone in a blaze of audible velocity that left Oliver at an anaesthetized standstill. The stunning heir was not looking forward to the sobering brightness of tomorrow morning, due to which new realities would become more clear, he also did not look forward to walking through the Ace of Clubs with a nine and a half inch erection bulging through his pants, either. He looked down to the now-drying juice from Clark's dick which had made sticky work of his fingers, and after a moment of gathering his thoughts, he made way through the small foyer near the toilets, aiming to leave through the club's back exit. As he ventured home, Oliver wondered what his tomorrow would bring, and if Clark would ever again be in it.

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END


	3. Chapter 3: Crimson

Title: REDgreen

Type: Slash, bromance, non-com, angst, smut, lost episode scenes

Rating: NC-17

Fandom: Smallville

Pairing/s: Clark/Oliver, Collie, Oliver/Victoria (Hardwick, once featured love interest of Lex Luthor)

Episode Setting: Post-Identity, Pre-Bloodline

Word Count: 9988

Summary: Given their recent fallout, Clark travels to Europe in order to reconcile with Oliver during the proposed summit of heroes he had obliged to hold there. However, with wounds still sore things turn ugly after Clark finds Oliver there with Victoria Hardwick, and Oliver receives a visit from one side of Clark that he's never met before, but is sure to not soon forget. Could there be a pot of gold at the end of this turbulent rainbow?

Warnings: May be slightly spoilerish to those who have not seen the Season 8 episode "Identity" or some other episodes aired prior to that, includes some sexual references and events of an erotic nature. Those looking for immediate excuses for spiteful smut may not have the patience needed to appreciate the series. Also, slightly non-com in parts, so if that offends you, please turn away now.

Disclaimer: Don't own Smallville or the characters, just like writing about it and them.

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Fretful of how Oliver would receive him, especially unannounced, given the dark cloud that hung over their last inopportune encounter, Clark found himself hesitating as he stood at furthest end of the path that lead to his chosen destination. Clark took in a deep and somewhat pensive breath as he approached the Spanish beachfront mansion that Oliver had rented, not knowing he was underdressed for the occasion within the confounds of these well put together dark glass walls, but then such naiveté was not only to be expected, but also part of the unassuming alien's charm. Others may have considered the sense of company and decoration that Queen typically kept, yet Clark barely even paid mind to the fact that Oliver's present gathering was one intended to introduce a goodwill and unity amongst an alliance of heroes. Instead, so far as Clark's limited concern allowed, he was simply here to see his friend, whatever other details may have been were just dwindling by untouched by his focus or care. Before opening the large doors that now stood before him at the end of the path his feet had followed, Kent paid slight note towards how impressively these glass walls encased the volumes of sound coming from within them, which had only become obvious to Clark now that he had gotten so close, a faint yet wrenching din of music and crowd noise reverberating just passed the thick, treated panes that refined this incomparably chic domicile. When the doors swung smoothly open, it was as though the range of his already enhanced earshot had been instantly displaced to a realm of music and social calamity, sound bleeding in to an aura of previous silence that enveloped Clark. The handsome powerhouse hung his head for a moment, eyes searching for something that hid beneath the floor, a small thought of large disappointment washing over him for just a moment; this is how the side of Oliver that Clark resented operated, and so well, hiding worlds of unknown frivolity beneath a clean and shining surface. As though those of a lost lamb that had been sent out to a field of wolves, Clark's eyes failed in the fight to flinch, too cautious to really transfix upon any of the many individuals so enjoying the settings and amenities available to them within Oliver's rented abode, which was even more lavish and elaborate inside that it's prominent outer frame was able to suggest.

Eyes of amusement and unkind sympathy fell upon Kent's apparently unfitting presence, causing the gentle giant feelings of anxiety; his ultimate self doubt that of not never truly fitting in, always being different, alone, unaccepted. Apprehensively , Clark took an uneasy pace further through Queen's Kingdom, more accurately described as a jungle of unrestricted leisure and percolated misbehaviour, still reluctant to catch the direct glares of anyone else's eyes with his own soulful emerald orbs. As though his body acted on autopilot, instinct fuelled Kent's journey to the socially safe luxuries of the bar, out of the zone of engagement, his elbows resting on the marble surface there despite the fact that he had no intention of intoxicating himself with any of the available fluids the hired barkeep might offer him. And suddenly Clark's eyes ceased to mildly wander, his heartbeat slowed with the rest of time, and no incriminating looks upon him or hammering melodies seemed to matter. He had found his golden friend, outshining the rest of the crowd, and while Clark didn't know it, his lips had elected an upwards curl at either corner. However, such warm expression was not to die long after it's birth, as Clark's witness extended to less favourable facts attached to his wealthy and enviously charismatic friend. The Kryptonian had seen her before, the beautiful woman who shared playful rhythmic embraces with Oliver, and on the arm of his previous best friend no less. Clark made effort to not compare Oliver with Lex again even if in the privacy of his own thoughts, as this never concluded to any good between he and his current cohort. Clark could not fathom why of all people, Victoria Hardwick would be here, and so particularly involved with Oliver; he knew that Oliver's hatred for Lex was not surpassed by many things, but he had hoped that basic logic was one mountain it could not conquer. Charged with bitter taste towards the canoodling Oliver had chosen to do, and with whom he had chosen to do such with, a before hesitant Clark hastened towards the secret archer with a portion more aggression in his step. Clark's blood boiled further as he watched the smiles shared by Oliver and Victoria devour one another, so much so that by the time he had forced his way through the crowd with an unusual recklessness, to insist audience from the elitist pair, he stood before Oliver with an atypically unforgiving expression.

"We need to talk.", Clark sharply informed his dexterous blonde ally, eyes visibly tempered at even the chance that they might fall upon Victoria.

"Clark, you made it-", Oliver made a mockery Clark's attempt at demanding serious conversation by washing it away with indifference delivered with a jovial tone, letting the larger man know that not only did he not answer to him, but he also found the concept of doing so amusing. After all, Clark had accused Oliver of playing games with him, and Oliver had always been a firm believer in doing that which he had already been blamed for, "-I'd offer to reimburse your travel expenses, but then something tells me you didn't have to clock in any frequent flyer miles to get here.", Oliver casually gave reference to Clark's superhuman ability to get from one place to another which put even the greatest vehicles to shame. Queen proceeded to compose himself, still keeping his body language open to Victoria, who did not stray far away from him in spite of Clark's invasion of their recently exclusive social bubble.

"I'm serious, we need to talk.", Clark somewhat bleated, desperately, antagonized by the uncaring nuance of Victoria's attractive smile in response to his tried force of interruption. Clark's eyes punished Oliver's with a blunt and unwavering gaze, the bowman standing so smug with his masterful smirk and his finely tailored black suit which in turn seemed set upon mocking Clark, complimenting and clinging at Oliver's physical form perfectly, accentuating his certain brand of obnoxious insolence.

"No Clark we really don't. We've said all there is to say, or rather, you did, or are you forgetting the last time we spoke?", Noticing that Clark had yet to speak his name, Queen abruptly applied a callous and effortlessly domineering tone, reminding Clark of not only the acidic manner in which their last conversation had ended, but also of the fact that such was entirely down to his choice. Oliver's dark and sparkling eyes grew colder still, refuting any need or obligation to do otherwise, bringing his stalemate with Clark to a visibly official head. "Well I am not, and frankly Clark I'm done listening to the spineless thoughts of a boy who has yet to see the world. So whatever it is you came here to say, save it. Like you said, you were just a toy to me, but you were wrong about one thing; you were broken long before I got to the toy shop.", a pregnant pause filled the air between the two men, as faces from within the crowd watched on, most unable to actually hear what was being discussed passed the melodic noise being drilled out from the speakers situated throughout the entire ground floor , "Since you managed to find your way in, I presume you know where the door is?", when it came to verbal assault, there weren't many who could rival the finesse and venomous cadence of a vexed Oliver Queen.

Clark did remember, and regret how events had unfolded from the last time he and Oliver had spoken, and though he was still confused about his relationship with Queen, his initial reasons for venturing through Europe were to reconcile with his friend and apologize for behaving so brashly when he did. While these issues were certainly still capable of being discussed this night, Clark maintained that he had initiated a trail of thought to see out, and eventually started to feel a sense of rage ebb through him, for Oliver was doing it again, that thing he does to disarm Clark, to distract him and captivate him so that anything that mattered to Clark or anything he had to say went overlooked and unheard. Clark was tired of it, running from himself as well as jumping through hoops, he was not going to let Oliver take such keen an authority over not only him, but his right to speak his piece as well.

"I'm not going anywhere Oliver. I didn't come here to fight, and it's clear that we have a lot to say to one another, but my concern right now is the company you're keeping.", Kent shared as calmly as he could, eyes certainly kinder that those of his social adversary, subtly pleading for a break to be given, at least when they weren't granting opposed gestures to the beautiful and devious Ms Hardwick.

"Victoria? What is it Clark, due to a misspent and short lived past with Lex you don't trust her, and think it best that I follow suit? Or is it just that I'm with her at all that's bothering you, that I've so quickly moved on? Because nobody ever does that with you do they Clark? They all hang around waiting for the one and only Clark Kent to notice them.", while Oliver's verbal onslaught was certainly set only to incline in severity, previous onlookers had become disinterested in the his ongoing conversation for the most part, "Well not me Clark. As you can see, we live in very different worlds-", Oliver gestured both hands proudly to refer to his surroundings and all within them, eyes wondering around the room to help prove his point and his pride, "-as you've so kindly pointed out yourself. I have everything I could ever want and more. You just have yourself; a lonely little boy in a world he continues to refuse saving, and for what? The luxury of not knowing if he'd fail? I guess it's easier failing just yourself and those around you. Good luck with that life Clark, but if you ask me, it isn't living, and I don't want any part in the life of someone who is so afraid of all the things that can't penetrate his steel skin."

"Stop calling me that.", Clark shot, offended by Oliver likening him to a child. At this point, Clark noticed Victoria leaving unimpressed, making her way to the bar, "And what is this exactly Oliver? You'd promised that you were going to leave all this behind, that image of you that you hate so much. You said coming to Europe was about forming alliances with other people like us, and all I can see is indulgence, people celebrating it. This isn't a summit of people who intend to form a league of superheroes, Oliver, I don't think I see a single one of the people who are meant to be here-", Clark spoke of the mutual allies he and Oliver shared, the founding members of the aforementioned league of heroes; Dinah, Arthur, Bart and Victor, "-this is just a party you've decided to throw to satisfy an impulse and a whim. I should have known-"

"-Oh Clark will you so us both a favour and please shut the fuck up. You don't live on my shoulder, you're not my fucking conscience. You're hardly qualified to be my moral guide, so you can stop talking to me as though you live on higher ground than I do, you don't. You don't know me, you don't even know yourself, and on both counts you never will.", between the rolling of Oliver's hindered yet captivating eyes, and his carelessly acrid comments, it became clear that Clark had lost his steam. After all efforts to assert himself and step up to Oliver as a man with all that he had to say, ultimately Clark was left defenceless by Queen once again, a badly drawn image of the man he was trying to be for him, "This is who I am, in fact Clark it's who most people are. We like to have fun, we like to have lives that don't solely focus on a sulking misery because we're failing to be the man we think our fathers would have wanted us to be-."

"-That's low, Oliver.", Clark retreated with grinded teeth, filled with upset and resenting that Oliver would use such a heartless pathology to upset him with.

"Right Clark, because you're the only person in the universe with daddy issues, that comment only applies to you. Boohoo Clark, really…get the fuck over it.", Clark could hardly believe the cruelty of the playboy's words, if not for the sheer authenticity of the pitiless tone in which they were spoken in his direction. "Only weeks ago you were telling me how much you looked up to me, how much you wished you could be more like me, how special I was because of my impulsive ability to enjoy life, and now what, you're condemning me for it? Typical contradictory Clark Kent melodrama. Game over Clark. Get the fuck out of my life, and stay there."

"Oliver you can't be serious, I can't believe you'd…it doesn't have to be-", Clark tried to string together a sentence that would prevent the inevitable, eyes shifting side to side in pursuit of a small intellectual miracle, head bobbing up and down due to an inability to remain thoroughly optimistic about a relationship with somebody who would say such heinous things with regard to him.

"I'm serious Clark. Get out. Don't call me when you need help saving Chloe's life, don't drop by my place because you can't get it up for Lana any more, don't even leave a post-it at my office. I'm done.", Clark had never seen Oliver look so cold and unfeeling, like stone, so cold and unfeeling that it was hard to actually see Oliver's lips form the words that they were.

"You're…you don't want me here.", Clark uttered with disbelief and regret, mostly just wanting to hear himself say the words aloud, if only to break the painful silence, rather than to hear an answer; Oliver had already been very clear on what his answer would be.

"You know what Clark, stay if you'd like, I doubt that after this conversation has ended I'll ever find it difficult to ignore you again. In fact, I'm surprised that I ever noticed you existed at all…you really don't.", Oliver ended his final blow in this social warfare, with a breath of faint laughter blown tonelessly through his nose, eyelids closed to express how ridiculous he felt it had been to have ever noticed or even bothered with Clark.

"Oliver, wait…I-", but before Clark had rallied the will to reach out to Oliver's shoulder, Oliver's eyes had left his without indecision, and the golden bowman had left Clark grasping and looking at the dawning ghost he'd left behind.

Within mere moments, Queen had not a care in the world, beaming so brightly and so beautifully in the shared dalliance of friends, Victoria kept naturally within his arm's reach. Queen made no lie of it; Clark no longer mattered to him. With sad, watered eyes and a defeated brow, Clark somehow managed to take himself to a dark corner of the room that was lit so wildly and full of so much colour. Sinking within himself, he sat watching on at a nightmare he couldn't wake up from, still too much a man to know how to let the tears welling up actually shed and lace his face with wet streams of sorrow. He felt alone and empty, like he had ruined everything again as always; perhaps Oliver was right, perhaps there was a distracting safety to Clark repeatedly sabotaging the connections he had to those closest to him, something enough to give him some cognitive reason never to truly evolve further, become who he was meant to be and fail as that. Clark had never known anyone he had liked, to come to hate him so much, not even Lex had looked at him like that, spoken to him that way, not so far as his memory served. But then it could be true that Oliver had mattered more to Clark than Lex ever would have, after all, Clark had known Lex as a friend he could trust, and then witnessed him becoming something far more wretched personally, before the two had ever become enemies. Clark had saw what was coming with Lex before it ever came, he'd known how tyrannical Lex could be, he had been prepared. With Oliver, Clark could never have known that he could be so hateful towards him, and he blamed himself. Still, something inside Clark stirred, a thought or a question or maybe even an answer that his mind had somehow encoded and made slippery enough so that it escaped Clark's grip and ability to comprehend.

Moments that seemed like hours had passed, and Clark no longer lifted his head to look at the friend he once had, on occasion. Kent had become hollow, and even the glow of Queen's brilliance had lost it's forbidden charm. Nothing mattered to him now, everything always went badly when it did and so he resided to thinking of nothing, and thus avoid he misery that his cursed touch brought. And such thoughtless a state of mind was, until to Oliver's misfortune, it was not. Suddenly, Clark saw red; once again he had been spellbound by Oliver, whose words were chosen more sophisticatedly than his, whose very sense of charismatic dominion had slew any meaningful opposition from Clark, before it had even been properly heard. Not only had Oliver diminished Clark's character and right to defend it as well as his views, but he had done so in a way that left Clark blaming himself for it all. Eyes still watered, skin warmed by his anger, Clark slipped a large hand along his chest and under his red, dated jacket, taking from the pocket found there a small lead box, eyeing it with an equal measure of both doubt and hunger. Sooner than would be needed for Clark to have closed the just opened box himself, came speeding blur of red and blue motion, so fast and so fierce that it could not be seen or heard by anyone present.

Time had barely passed at all by the time Clark had returned at all, yet this time his blur more black and silver than it's typical primary hues. As he arrived, slipping out of the blur, the spectators of the ground floor looked on to him much differently than before, his new and vibrant guile causing women's gazes to fall upon him with impressed thirst, and those of men to meet him with intimidation and envy, however tamed. He looked darker now, eyes filled with dark intent beneath the panes of dark glass that concealed them, and with lips that knew only to bore variations of a wickedly delicious smile, standing so victoriously and without a care, as though he owned the world and barely cared about it. The Kryptonian's lips lit aflame with a demonically brilliant smirk for long enough a moment for others to notice and thirst for it, removing his shades and placing one arm of them into the chest pocket on the outside of his black leather jacket. Vampiric glare cutting through the crowd, making way for his feet to follow it, the powerhouse strutted passed those who held casual awe in his visage, and took stride to the stairway at the other end of the room. As he reached the first steps, onlookers to his back, Clark tilted his head to one side slightly and peered through the only walls of this elaborate home that were not made of glass, with his x-ray vision, in pursuit of his prey. Dark jade orbs closed in on Oliver greedily, finding him with body pressed against the delectable Victoria Hardwick in a way he remembered to be personally familiar, wall at his back as it was now hers, Clark's uncivilized detest inspired the blackest of smirks from the tender reddened flesh of his mesmerising lips. Not even a second later, the thick, bolted door of the bathroom had been torn asunder by but a simple fist's will from Clark, who stood so drunk on himself that it should have been a sin to observe it.

"Get out.", he demanded of Victoria not needing to raise his voice, for it was sure and dark enough in tone, and parted through such deliberate held a mouth that there would be no doubt as to how much he meant business. She nervously glanced at Oliver, before clutching at her open blouse and running out of the room, passed a stoic Clark who now looked to Oliver as the trophy he had just won.

"No, don't-", Oliver's behest was too late for the British vixen's exit, "-What the…Clark what exactly do you think you are doing? I told you to leave, not stick around and continue to fuck with my life like you do everyone else's.", Oliver angrily reigned himself back, while speaking his piece, standing straight once more where he once lowered himself and covered Victoria for both of their protection, in reaction to the impact of Clark's blow against the locked door that had promised to keep his naughty squandering with said woman undisturbed.

"Actually Oliver you said to stick around, that it didn't matter, that you could ignore me. And just so you know-", the towering superhuman raised a fist to bare his knuckles to the older, more diminutive man, "-you're not dealing with Clark any more.", Oliver's softened brown eyes widened as they saw the ring laced with crimson meteor rock, crowning just one of the knuckles that had been exposed to him.

Oliver firmly put emphasis on the span of his shoulders and stepped closer to the other man who blocked his exit from the now doorless doorway, an attempt to show no fear, "So, Kal is it? Am I supposed to be afraid because Clark got himself into another situation he couldn't handle himself, so decided to let you wear his skin and handle it for him?", Oliver's eyes sought to provoke Kal's.

"No.", Kal quickly answered, with no sign of being agitated, "You should be afraid that you're no longer in control. That's the big kicker, isn't it, you having no power over what's happening, so much so that you'll do and say almost anything to keep from feeling that way, even if it means trampling all over someone who's already a doormat.", Kal concluded.

"So it's my fault that Clark's weak.", and Queen would have proceeded to insert a tactical grunt of laughter, if he hadn't been interrupted.

"Clark isn't weak, Oliver, you know that. Confused because you're the first guy to give him a boner? Sure…but not weak. Taking advantage of someone who looks up to you to their own detriment, when they could more easily demolish every square inch of property you own…now that's weak.", Kal let the masked bowman know that when Clark harboured no inhibitions, Oliver was not the only one who prized a mastery over words, "That's the problem…your taste for Clark is rivalled by a Napoleonic complex, you aren't sure whether you want to be more with him, or be more than him. The latter of which will never happen.", Kal smirked, filthily.

"All this him and you…Clark told me himself, you're one in the same, you just do all the things he won't let himself.", Oliver interjected, now clearly paying attention to Kal, when before he intended to demonstrate that usual, indifferent reception he often gave Clark when things didn't go his way.

"You may be able to distract Clark with irrelevant information, but not when he is me.", Kal took a step towards Oliver whose shirt was somewhat unfastened, and suit jacket nowhere to be seen, remains of the door that once was cracking beneath his feet. With two copious hands that gripped at Oliver's flesh in a self-welcoming and hungering way which Queen knew to be unlike anything Clark's nature could ever usually initiate, Kal grabbed decisively at the shoulders of his golden prey, shoving him firmly against the wall to his back and pinning him there, unable to escape, "I can do anything to you, you know. And you do know.", Kal reassured him of the latter sentence with a dark grime to his tone, "I could take you downstairs and beat the shit out of you in front of all of those other poor little rich kid friends of yours if that's what I wanted. I could strip you, humiliate you, tie your limbs into knots, anything I wanted."

"And I'd just let you?", Oliver feeling threatened, struggled to save face.

"You'd have no say in it. My destiny is to be a God among men, you should remember your place in that.", Kal insisted, devilish face so close to Oliver's that the other man could smell his flesh.

"So you want to hurt me?"

"Oh Oliver-", Kal chuckled grimly from within the deeper confines of his chest, "If that's what I wanted, do you really think you'd still be able to ask me that question?"

"Then…what do you want?", Oliver's eyes grew calmer for some reason, as well as his body started to loosen to Kal's forceful touch.

The darker, more delicious Clark rolled his eyes and shook his head side to side before letting out a soundless breath of laughter, "Your ego is absurd. You think-"

"-That you want me to fuck you?", Oliver attempted to finish the evil alien's sentence.

The only thing about the smile that then blazed across Kal's face that was not as serpentine as that of a deadly viper, was the tongue that was just as predatory that rested within in. Looking to Oliver as though he were both amusingly stupefied and claiming a defeat, Kal drew in closer to Oliver's anxious ear, "Do I look like a bottom to you?", a rhetorical question, although any correct answer would clearly have been negative, "Still, you might have some idea of what I've got in store for you. Make no mistake, this is more about teaching you a lesson than anything else, although I admit I will be enjoying it for a number of reasons.", Kal's words were pure liquid mischief, fried in a vat of sin, imported from the bowls of Hell itself.

"You're going to fuck me?", asked Oliver tensely, masking the greater portion of his panic.

"Oh you're definitely fucked Oliver, just not in any way you might like.", Kal quipped with a lack of compassion and for his own amusement. He then proceeded to lift Oliver from the floor against the tiled wall he held him against, claiming an animalistic kiss from the leaner man's objecting lips. As soon as Oliver gave in and started kissing back, Kal pulled back from Oliver's open mouth and spat into it recklessly before burning the emerald archer's eye's with the unkindness of his malevolent grin.

"I might not be as strong as you, but I'm no pushover.", an angered and tested Oliver shot through panicked breaths, the provocation of his ego and his dependency to always be in control stripped away, his natural instinctual need to preserve his own safety fought chaotically with his own temper, for claim to dominance.

"No, but you'd like to be wouldn't you. Or did you think I'd forget…I just wanted to be like Clark Kent, you know? - I'm not even in your league.", If the sinister and velvety tones of voice he applied and looks of pure dirt were not enough, then it was visibly evident from the nuanced snaking of Kal's very physicality alone that he was more than enjoying to toy with his prey before he devoured it. "Don't kid yourself Oliver, you're five parts idolization and ten parts envy."

Finding himself unable to bear much witness to Kal's poisonous smiles, Oliver held his face to a side and began to close his eyes as often as he could to shield himself from their ominous, intoxicating glory, "Fine Clark…Kal. Whatever you're going to do to me, just do it. Like you said, it's not like I can stop you. Just don't do it here where anyone could see.", it was more like Oliver applied a logical rationale to the situation rather than submitting himself to it; he realized that if the inevitable was indeed that, then the best he could hope for was that it be over sooner rather than later, and not stumbled upon by any of his guests.

"Say please.", Kal's eyes beamed with a furious, almost salivating contempt, bringing no immediate response from his golden haired victim, "Say it!"

"Please.", Oliver acquiesced, mind rankled and racked with tribulation, feeling as though he had just sold away every single part of himself that he prided and held dear, not only to receive no payment, but to also be punished for it. While his word had been said softly id admission of defeat, his face stayed full with a controlled anaesthetizing hate that made him seem partially catatonic.

"Well, since you asked nicely…", Kal released the hold that would leave Oliver with at least mild bruising in the morning, causing his feet to land to the ground beneath with an abrupt thud, and gestured towards the doorway, giving the wealthy womanizer steady permission to lead the way to his room. Once there Kal closed and locked the door, after which he shoved Oliver, who strove so desperately to remain as calm as humanly possible, onto the large king sized bed, "Don't move.", he ordered of Oliver, knowing that he costumed adventurer was by no means accustomed to accepting defeat at the worst of times, and would no doubt be formulating a way out of his current ordeal. Kal dragged the chair from the dressing table, as well as an iced bucket of champagne he found there, to the side of the bed where Oliver lay facing him and stretched, so lean and long like a delicate piece of expensive meat about to me marinated.

"So, I interrupted you and Victoria just when it looked like things might start to get interesting. That must bother you, no?", Kal asked playfully, which was much better a first act than Queen has anticipated.

"As opposed to being made your bitch which isn't bothering me at all? Sure, it really rained on my parade.", Oliver spat sarcasm, not thinking before he'd spoken.

"There you go again, thinking that you'll tackle me while I'm playing nice, not accepting that at the end of the day, I still win.", Kal churned with vocal grit, meaning business, "So did you fuck her at all, slip it in a few times? Did she suck your dick? Exactly how far did you get before I barged in? If I sucked your dick right now, would I be tasting her hot little cunt on the end of it?"

Oliver had never imagined or dreamed of Clark ever saying such expletive things and with such a forwardness, and even then at that moment he was unable to deny that it sent his heartbeat in a race that he felt filling his loins in a liquid stampede of blood and lust. He even regretted that he'd never fantasised Clark in such a naughty, appetizing light, "No Cl…Kal I…nothing happened.", Queen's watering mouth struggled to form consecutive words in bask of Kal's unexpected use of illustrious use of language, and so instead it's tongue tended to the lips that held it.

"Oh come on, you're Oliver Queen, you can barely walk down the street without filling some whore's box with your big, sugar frosted dick. You're telling me that nothing happened? You didn't take those perfect British tits in your hand and thumb her nipples, make her wet and ready for you to plunge that greedy cock of yours as deep inside her as it would go? You didn't hook your fingers underneath those folds of flesh and taste the juices that drooled out from behind them? Grind your swelling cock against the lean, pearly flesh of her thighs? Nothing?", Kal continued to interrogate Oliver illicitly, clearly aroused at his own line of question, but perhaps due more to the fact that his friend was his prey now, and had to hear it, had to answer to it, completely subject.

"I did…we, I felt her, my…pressed against her-", Kal's hypnotic verbalizations has entranced Oliver, who had been taken off guard, and the wealthier young stallion hated him for it; while he wished otherwise, Clark's superior strength and Kal's superior application of it were not the only weapons the Kryptonian had that could so effortlessly best Oliver.

At rapid and uncontrollable instance, Kal sniggered, which while not intended to relieve Oliver of embarrassment, did just that, interrupting him before he shed any more shame on himself, "Don't blush Oliver, it doesn't become you.", Kal mischievously suggested, groping himself through dark denim jeans, casually.

"You don't call me Ollie.", Oliver shared an observation of Kal.

"I don't do pet names."

Oliver's eyes had qualm's delay to widen once more, as Kal shrugged off his leather jacket and began to peel off his tight black shirt overhead, throwing both garments randomly behind him, revealing a supple, thick, athletic build of muscle and flesh. Oliver has a thousand contradictory thoughts smashing at his mind all at once; he was sure whatever was about to happen was surely about to happen, he wasn't sure whether a part of him would like it, he wanted to look at Clark's flesh, he wanted it to be his choice to look at Clark's flesh. Then, Kal raised the forgotten bottle of premium chilled champagne above him, and poured it incautiously over himself, wet, ice-cold alcoholic fluid soaking his coarse raven hair and drenching his face and torso in a battle of bubbling splashes, his soft, dark nipples darkening further and hardening almost instantly. Oliver was glad that he had been spared to obligation to form words at all at this point, as he may not have had any to offer.

"See something you like, richboy?", Kal teased in a quick snap.

"I…", Oliver wasn't sure if he couldn't speak, or if he simply refused to, for any true answer he gave would incriminate once more as a defeated man.

"The next time you don't answer, you really won't like what happens next."

"Yes, OK? You know I…of course I like what I see.", the sometimes masked avenger submitted, reluctantly.

"Then you'll taste it.", Kal stated, as a matter of fact.

"What do you-", and before Oliver could finish his anxious question, Kal was towering above his lap, knees aside his taut, flinching thighs, straddling his elder and using both of his massive hands to force Queen's protesting face into his chest where he was meant and forced to lick. Kal guided Oliver's head exactly where he wanted it to go, and refused to loosen his grip at all until the archer actually started to put some actual effort in. Finally, Queen did start to give in to the moment, enjoying it for the fact of Clark's enticing flesh being subject to his mouth, if not for having no choice in the matter; biting the tightened circle that encompassed Kal's nipple tentatively, licking gnawing and nuzzling at the warm, impregnable flesh of his robust torso. After allowing Oliver a few moments to enjoy and prove himself, Kal dragged his head back by the hair and shoved him back down onto the bed, the scent of wet flesh and champagne filling the air most immediate to both men.

After a short tirade of tyrannical closed-eyed laughter, Kal looked to Oliver once more, painfully unimpressed, "That's it? That's the best you've got? Oliver Queen, the man who'd put porn stars to shame he fucks so well, and that's all you've got? Talk about killing a dream…but maybe foreplay isn't your forte.", Kal mocked without any concern for offending his golden prey or not.

"Fuck you!", Oliver spat loudly in a moment's red rage, unacquainted with assaults against his ego, and in turn, them having such potent negative effect.

"More wishful thinking…", Kal basked in a glow of hate inspiring glory, "…take off your clothes."

"What? No!", Oliver grimaced and refused, and although he knew better than to try and escape the powerful embrace of Kal's thighs, his body seemed to promise other ideas.

"Not asking, telling. Take off your fucking clothes now!", Kal's eyes irradiated with red energy, threatening to burn through something if they didn't get their way, "What's the matter Oliver, it's not like your dick couldn't use the room…", Kal's powerful hand robbed a determined squeeze from Queen's stiff, throbbing prick from outside of the lavish black material that strained against it, "…looks like even though you're hating this, a certain part of you can't resist Kryptonian playtime, whatever form it comes in."

"Fuck off Clark, I'm not doing it!", Queen strained an anguished bellow.

"It's Kal…and what did I say about telling me no.", Kal demanded ferociously with no room for further disobedience left, grabbing tightly at Oliver's neck, closing in his grip to strangle and asphyxiate him, Oliver's helpless, horrified stares met only by Kal's unflinching ones.

"Fuck! Stop…OK, OK, I'll do it…I'll fucking do it!", for once, Oliver answered correctly, albeit through tightened and failing breath which disallowed him much vocal tone at all, but instead the shaping of distressed, rattling air in place of any sort of voice.

Kal released Oliver from his inescapable chokehold and retired back to the chair for a moment, the waistband of his own jeans darkened by the earlier spilled damp of aromatic champagne that had yet to dry, and although Queen hated him, his eyes wished they could steal a glance from beneath that evil denim to see if the planes of skin there glistened just as wetly as the tender, inviting flesh underneath Kal's belly button. Oliver felt Kal's perversely dominating eyes penetrating every inch of him as he apprehensively undressed, each gaze making him feel unclean and weak, like he were muddied and hollow and weightless. Kal's beautiful victim has never felt to exposed, so imprisoned. He was Kal's captive now, marked as such by every punishing and unforgiving moment of witness those demonic eyed tarnished Oliver's fresh, naked, body with. He wanted nothing more than to swing away at Kal's face with punches that would kill or permanently injure any other man, but as the case was, such would only cause Oliver ailment, and he wasn't sure that Kal would start showing any sympathy for him at that point.

"Satisfied?", Oliver asked through a voice he felt no longer belonged to him, with words no part of him wanted to say, to a now standing Kal.

"There's no need to be modest Oliver, with your ego and ability to see, you're all too aware how hot a fuck you are. I mean I was born with certain…benefits…but look at the work you've put into that body, so lean, so golden and perfect, even now when it's not exactly your finest hour.", Kal's index finger beckoned a kneeling Oliver to come closer to him, and once such had come to pass, Kal simply scraped at the soft, sun kissed flesh he found amidst that tightly toned torso he had just paid free and deserved compliment to, fingernails dragging, forming circles of varying size there, "And that meaty prick-", Kal looked down to Oliver's raging penis which bobbed against his jeans just above the knee, smudging the denim with a tiny yet gorgeous portion of it's excited excrement, "-I'm not sure if I want to eat it or frame it. I can see why Clark would want to sneak a peak at that…then again I am his uninhibited side, so I guess I'm as much to blame for that."

As otherwise troubled as the stupefied bowman indeed was, he was able to acknowledge one more new priority of thought; this schizophrenic shit with Kal was really pissing him off. "So what, you're buttering me up before you have your way with me, is that it?", he asked, boldly, considering the circumstances.

"Something like that, but if it's any consolation…I mean every word.", Kal boasted, so cocksure of himself Oliver could have exploded with frustration right there and then.

Grabbing at that flaxen mound of hair at the back of his head once more, Kal positioned himself over Oliver once more, closing his teeth around the delicate flesh of Oliver's neck firmly enough to graze it, warm, sodden tongue exciting the other man with it's refined, passionate flicks. Oliver grunted with protest in place of pain, not wishing to be helpless but having no other choice, also hating the fact that Kal was forcing him to enjoy something he didn't want to, because he wasn't in control. In reaction to this disdainful grumble pushed out from Queen's treacherous throat, Kal ceased to make a meal of the now reddened flesh he had just dined upon in sexual fever. Instead, deviant Kryptonian backed away slightly and took his trusted index finger, gently pressing it against the side of Oliver's pulsating tool at the base, and travelling around the outline of the whole erect member, flesh remaining on flesh the entire time.

"Now who's being coy?", Kal almost growled, "This clean, cut dick…you must love it…not as sensitive than others that haven't been cut. You can do a lot of damage with it can't you blondie? It can take a beating. You love it."

Kal handled the neck of the champagne bottle again, washing the cold bubbling fluid over Queen's boiling, rock solid cock, making it's very meat seem even hotter in contrast. Oliver watched speechlessly like a uninvolved spectator to his own fucktool as Kal choked and pumped at it with greedy pace and precision, tugging him off without censorship or need for invite. The lean marksman dared not express resentment or pleasure any further, for either would be an admission that he refused to submit. His reluctance seemed not only impractical but also impossible though, with Kal tending to his precum-bleeding dick with growing fervour, it was all Oliver could do to keep his legs from buckling and keeping himself upright, to at least face his sexual dictator directly in terms of physical position. Fighting back his body's inarguable need for him to moan and release random, exasperated breaths, Oliver attempted to appease Kal with an alternative suggestion.

"You know…I promise…you don't have to have me…like this.", Oliver just managed to force out his plea without losing control of his vocal chords completely.

"I can have you any way I want, permitted or not. You were happy up until now, while you were making all the rules, not asking permission. It's all about taking with you isn't it, and rarely giving if you have to…but being taken from, not so good with that.", Kal remarked, too wisely for Queen's current application of intelligence to compete with. "You know what I think?", Kal stopped tugging roughly at the other man's impressive and swollen pussyfucker, slipping two forefingers behind it and wiggling them too and fro patiently, causing Oliver's handsome dick to twang downwards and then upwards again. He continued to speak, eyes carefully investigating every contour of that beautiful cock at his mercy, "I think if you really had a problem with anything happening here, your fuckstick wouldn't be so hard and so glossed in it's own juices. Maybe it's trying to tell you something Oliver.", Kal taunted him, and it seemed too much of such treatment was never enough.

"The Clark I know would never do this.", Oliver confirmed.

"But isn't that the previous problem? You can't have your cake and eat it richboy, I mean we both know you love a good lapdog at your beckon call, but you've tried that, it didn't work out…he's gullible enough for you to have your fun with him, but too good a person not to realize when you're manipulating him, and that it's wrong.", while brash, unreasonable and chaotic in nature, Kal proved to be able to justify logic to suit his views as well as any of the articulates that Oliver considered formidable at such feats, "If you ask me, you need a little mean to handle your lean.", Kal insisted, still teasing his perfectly naked counterpart, whilst at the same time parting only with the truth.

"I didn't ask…", Oliver was not very astute when it came to choosing his attitude and words, at this point, but then his final plea had been thrown back in his face, and so well at that. If only Kal's tolerance of such behaviour was more forgiving, after all Oliver had caught his slip of insubordination early enough not to finish it.

"Enough! Shut your pretty fucking mouth!", Kal's eyes blazed with the fury of red energy again, and Oliver swallowed in automatic reaction, not in fear of being set ablaze my Kal's Kryptonian eyeshot, but instead concerned because he had never heard such severity in Clark's voice, or seen him look so cruel and ravenous. It wasn't even him, looking through Oliver as though he wasn't there, let alone paying no regard to his emotional or psychological standing or wellbeing, "We both know we can't trust you to do that don't we? So I'll shut it for you."

"No, wait…I'm-", Oliver was not allowed the luxury of completing his apology, and he was about to wish that his feeling of not being present with an actual fact in play.

With one seamless gesture, Kal flung Oliver around by a simple motioned grip at the archer's muscular bowing arm, so that he turned and landed with his head now resting atop the pillows of the luxurious, silk covered bed. Kal pinned down both of Oliver's hands against his own chest, and used one knee to restrain any attempts at flailing around from his long, nimble legs. And then, Kal spat a generous wad into his heartless palm, just before clamping it around the dark scarlet head of Oliver's stunning appendage with brutal tightness. The nerve endings in his saucy prick already well aroused, Oliver could just barely cope with the first few steady yanks at his piece, and once Kal began to tug at it with more unforgiving a rapidity, Oliver could no longer hold back the groans he had done so with before. Even though such would be futile, Oliver had been forcibly disallowed the ability to try and escape the blissful yet torturous onslaught of his cock, delivered so zealously by Kal's wicked hand.

"Stop…fuck…please.", the beautiful billionaire sincerely winced through broken, troubled moans.

"Stop? You want me to stop? You should have thought about that before you decided to be brave with that mouth of yours Oliver. No can do.", Kal responded, drinking in every unprecedented jolt and uncontrollable twitch that punched forth through Oliver's body. "Tell me that you've dreamt of fucking me, do it."

"No, Clark I…", Queen not realizing his first misnomer quickly remembered where saying no had gotten him so far, and immediately corrected his discourse, impossible as it was to speak comprehendible words at all, "…I've…dreamt of…fucking you."

"Meant it when you say it, make me believe it, shout it at the top of your lungs you unworthy little fuck.", Kal ungratefully commanded, clenching at the head of Oliver's erratically throbbing dick with even more hellish a grip and speed, to demonstrate to Oliver what would happen unless he was satisfied with his efforts.

"I fucking dream of…you…fucking you…allthefuckingtimestop!", Oliver bellowed as hard as he could unable to separate the last of his words, pleading with Kal to desist in his chosen course of penile punishment. Bittersweet irony though, that as unbearable as enduring all of this was and as much as he hated unfolding events, Oliver was so drowned in the sheer sexual mysticism that his gigantic dominator had gluttonously fattened him with, even the images that sprung forth from the words Kal ordered him to say, were turning him on, making him harder, causing the eye of his tool to weep further with succulent gooey fucksauce.

"Tell me you love me, and you want my dick in your fucking little mouth. Say it!", Kal himself shouted, flesh clammy with the heated sweat of lustful stimulus.

"I fuckingloveyou…I want your…bigfuckingdick…inmymouth. I want…sofuckingbig. I do…iwantit…so…fuckingmuch. Wantedsomuch…totasteyou…for…so…long. Shitfuck!", as Kal's regular pace upon the milking of Oliver's sensational fuckstick increased unfeasibly, Oliver knowing better than to provoke any worse predicament, found himself delirious, almost talking in tongues. He prayed Kal hadn't noticed what he had; that it almost sounded like beneath those words he had spoken it almost sounded like he was fighting back tears. The wet shafting of his private flesh filled his ears like music from the Gods. In a surreal and flooring manner, his body didn't feel like his own any more, he didn't even feel like he was inside it, all he could do was feel, unable to use his intellect to decide whether such was a gift or a curse. All other things but his cock and Kal's pumping hand had lost meaning, "Oh shit…if you keep…ifyoudontslowdown…I'm gonna…fuckmepleaseslowodown…I'm…", the golden playboy with the trophy cock insanely worded in a way so desperate that he had never known it of himself.

"You're going to what?", Kal said menacingly, knowing exactly what Oliver was trying to say.

"Gonna…fuck…I'm…gonnafucking….gonnafuckingcum! Oh fuck…fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.", Oliver's riveted body trembled as Kal hammered out nine thick ropes of thick pearly cum from his dick, waves of heavenly Hell crashed through him, owning him completely, each spurt of flavoursome jism causing Queen to quake and convulse, just ahead of unfathomable cries.

And just when sweet relief seemed finally nigh, as well as return to normality, a dark grumble of unkind laughter spilled dimly forth from Kal's oesophagus, as his fist clasped more monstrously and more specifically at Oliver's spent dick. Kal began to fuck the bundled helmet of flesh and nerves that crowned Oliver's golden cock so severely, that any treatment of it before seemed minuscule in comparison.

"Whatthefuck…Kal…don't, canttakeit…too much…toofuckingmuch.", maddening sensations of otherworldly orgasm electrified pleasure centres throughout his nervous system that Oliver didn't know even existed and wouldn't have thought possible to. "Ohmyfuckinggod…Kal I can't…fuckingstop…pleasefuckingstop.", Oliver's body twisted and contorted as much as it could beneath Kal's superhuman constraint, and Oliver had never looked more striking, intermittent low-pitched screams and whispered sighs escaping his mouth like crazed prisoners.

"Oh Oliver-", Kal's voice sounded like the pure unfiltered grit of deep dark sex, "-always having to decide everything, how to make others feel. So disappointing to see how you react when that's all stripped away, and all at the final hurdle…you were doing so well." Oliver couldn't believe what he was hearing, hadn't he already been subjected to more than any man should rightfully be expected to endure? What more could he give, his blood, his life? Short of dying, he was uncertain what else was left to submit or have taken from him. "It's over when I say it's over." And that's when it happened, like a sudden surge of enlightenment that hit Oliver's soul like a truck. As if being controlled by an unseen force, Oliver took in one large, deep breath, and as he exhaled, he became stoic, completely still and at peace even though he still felt like every particle of his being was made of frantic orgasm. His eyes welled up and a tear streamed slowly down one side of his face, tickling his cold unexpressive cheek, and that's when he said it, "The lesson has ended.", Kal announced, smirking like the devil after victory over God, pausing his pulls of Queen's distressed cock for just a few moments, and then stealing two conclusively vicious yanks from it. And just as soon as Kal removed all grip and constraint from Oliver's cock and body, Oliver instantly blurted forth a further two bursts of ejaculate, squirting aimlessly with no kneading hand to guide it.

Oliver remained still and visibly emotionless at first, Kal tasting the seed he had spilled from his fingers and then slipping them patiently passed Oliver's uncreative lips so he that he could taste himself without argument. With his taught student looking so delectable, Kal lifted any sense of self restraint, mounting the tall blonde stallion and leaning into him, consuming those clever and temperamental lips in an incomparably passionate kiss, his own soft moans of pleasure being fed in a whisper through Oliver's tongued mouth. The wet caresses of Kal's tongue began to slowly awaken Oliver from his previous state of extraordinary stasis, but Kal was too keenly occupied to notice, Oliver's eyes opening, the freshly capable cogs of his mind revolving in needed discovery for a way out of this predicament. Oliver started to kiss Kal back, pushing himself upwardly so that both men's torso's were parallel and upright, the archer's polished touches gracing the hot flesh of Kal's broad, mammoth shoulders and arms. Like a devious snake, Oliver's hand brushed and stroked and slithered it's way down to the tender flesh of Kal's pulse point. Seconds later, though the kiss had continued, it became very different on the darker haired man's behalf, and shortly after that it stopped completely. Oliver pulled away with an uneven, knowing smile, before holding up the red Kryptonite ring to Clark's face, between thumb and forefinger.

Himself again, Kent looks down to find Oliver fully naked, flaccid penis spread without shame along Oliver's inner thigh, the scent of fresh spunk in the air, as well as it's thick lashings were visibly splattered all over Oliver's torso, and it's faint taste rested upon Clark's taste buds. Looking to Oliver ashamed, Clark's heart raced incredibly, disgusted and disgraced at what he had obviously done. And then, before the flummoxed powerhouse could contest, Oliver was kissing him again.

"Oliver what are you…how can…what I've done, I'm so-", a fretting Clark promised genuine sentiments of distress and remorse after Oliver's kiss was done, yet was interrupted, first by the post-orgasmic ally euphoric giggle that warmly filled the air by way of Oliver's mouth, and then by Oliver's words.

"-Don't say sorry Clark, you have nothing to apologize for.", he said, much to Clark's surprise.

"But I, what I just did to you-"

"-Had to be done Clark, I wasn't listening…would never have listened. Now I get it.", he interrupted again, unwilling to let Clark blame himself for this.

"Whatever you're saying now…how can you even look at me again after what I've just done? I mean for all intents and purposes…it was-"

"You can't rape the willing Clark-", the golden stallion interrupted again, smiling goofily and without the felt need to conceal his amusement, "-and are you kidding me? I've been fucked 'til I've passed out, and I've never came like that…I'm not even sure what the fuck that just was. You be on the receiving end of that and ask me again how I could ever look at you after it.", although Clark couldn't comprehend why, Oliver seemed endlessly happy and optimistic, for someone who had just been sexually invaded upon, and in such harsh a fashion, "And in any case…no matter what you did, how could anyone ever take their eyes off your loveable mug?", Oliver asked with a wink.

"But Ollie-", while Clark was grateful that Oliver had taken recent events so well, he was still unsure and ultimately curious about how and why, "How could you even agree to be at Kal's mercy? Why didn't you try-"

"Because he's just a variation of you Clark, I had no reason but to trust anything that happened. Kal is you at your worst and your best, and I know that even at your worst, you wouldn't do anything to hurt me…God knows I've given you enough reason to so far.", Oliver explained somewhat elaborately. Clark looked himself over shyly, embarrassed at what he had done to Oliver, to which Queen couldn't help but laugh again mildly, finding his expression of shame ridiculously adorable.

"Stop it Ollie, it's not OK…I mean we could blame Kal, but when it comes down to it, I brought him here…I brought the ring and I put it on. Some part of me must have wanted that before I even knew that we'd get into a fight."

"Oh come on Clark, what did you do really, handjob me silly and give me a much needed slap on the wrist? I can think of worse fates…although I admit, I think one to many of those handjobs may lead to an early grave.", Oliver quipped, seeming to be in the mood that Clark loved him to be in, playful, quirky and audacious.

Clark scratched his head through a silence that troubled him, confused and taken way off guard by Oliver's positive persistence. Still, somehow he felt like everything was alright, like something had clicked, even if some parts of him were still uncomfortable with what had just happened between he and his best friend. "So what happens now?", he asked naively, his pout as coyly pursed as his hanging brow.

"Anything you want Clark, or nothing. There's nothing I won't give and nothing I'll try to take, not now, not any more.", the emerald archer's words caused Clark to smile with all the garish glee of a child with a new lollypop, "You know, I'm going to have to return the favour, but not tonight. Your little performance has left me drained! Who knew you had it in you."

"Ollie!", Kent was typically startled by Queen's audacious nerve.

Oliver smiled like a true winner should, "So you're calling me that again?", to which Clark nodded up and down, silly expression dripping from his face.

"So…does this mean we're, you know…gay?", wondered a very unworldly and yet ludicrously loveable Clark, who peered at Oliver like a little brother who went to his elder brother for answers to all the things that confused him.

"I don't think so Clark. I'm gay for you…maybe we're just gay for each other?", Oliver's silly delivery of these silly words forced Clark to beam with that stupendously impish grin of his that only came out every once and a while, and Oliver loved it.

"You have a big bed." Clark observed, bed sheets now pulled over his head in a way which likened him visually to the nightly antics of a small child.

"Yes Clark my bed is big, so are you. Care to help me fill it out?", and with that warm invitation offered by Oliver, Clark could do no more than nod positively, stupidly happy grin still stretched across the unfittingly masculine features of his face. Moments later and both young men were beneath the covers, sharing bodily warmth through the mildest most innocent of touches after saying their goodnights, and upon slumber, each had an arm resting upon the other, their faces the last thing that either had seen before night's rest. Yet for once, not Clark nor Oliver had any reason to dream.

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End file.
